THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
Mrs.  William  A.   Nitze 


THE  EGERTON-PALMER  PRESS 

CHICAGO-DENVER 


"  That  cross  will  probably  stand  for  centuries. 


THE  THEATRE  TERRIBLE 


A  Creation,  Presenting  Various 

Aspects  of  the  Greater  Drama 


By 

CHARLES  EDWIN  HEWES 

ILLUSTRATED 


THE     EGERTON-P AL M E R     PRESS 

1910 
CHICAGO-DENVER 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Copyright  1910 

By 
CHARLES  EDWIN  HEWES 


This  volume  is  dedicated  to 

MR.  PAUL  THIEMAN. 

"He  was  my  friend." 


PS 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 

A  FOOT  OF  GRANITE 

BOOK  I  The  40  Rounds Page  3 

BOOK  II  The  Nest  That  Shakes  in  the  Wind Page  19 

BOOK  III  The  Invasion  of  Polish Page  29 

BOOK  IV  The  Heart  of  the  Emerald Page  41 

PART  II 

THE  SKY-LINE  OF  THE  VAST 

BOOK  I  The  Gravedigger  and  the  Star Page    57 

BOOK  II  The  Chamber  of  the  Virgins Page    75 

BOOK  III  The  Cross  Among  the  Pines Page     85 

BOOK  IV  The  Phenomena  of  a  Shadow Page  117 

PART  III 

THE  FIRST  PLATER  IN  THE  ROLE  WHICH  GLORIFIES  AN   ILLUSTRIOUS 

NATION 

BOOK  I  The  Pot  That  Boils  a  Mountain Page  217 

BOOK  II  The  Successors  of  W.  W.  W Page  279 

BOOK  III  The  Measure  of  a  Paunch Page  329 

BOOK  IV  The  Line  of  the  Rockies Page  427 

BOOK  V  The  Visitation  of  the  Ten  Thousand  Mouths. Page  511 


LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  That  cross  will  probably  stand  for  centuries." — Frontispiece. 

"  And  turning  to  the  sheer  blank  wall,  he  drove  the  pick  at  it 
with  almost  superhuman  force." — Page  53. 

"  The  fearful  consuming  depths  of  the  monster  seemed  to  fas 
cinate  him  strangely." — Page  467. 


PERSONAL 

THIS  volume  has  been  seven  years  in  preparation.  Ac 
tually  I  have  spent  only  about  one-quarter  of  that  time 
upon  the  manuscript,  for  during  the  entire  period  I  have 
had  to  earn  bread,  clothes,  and  the  balance  of  those  necessities 
which  make  up  a  working-man's  living.  Thanks,  however,  to 
the  wonderful  mechanics  of  the  soul  as  I  have  learned  them, 
I  have  never  been  so  deeply  engrossed  in  the  problem  of  the 
living,  but  that  some  creature  of  thought  has  enlightened  and 
instructed  me  in  my  work,  whether  I  was  ranching,  selling 
groceries,  driving  stage,  mining,  or  billing  express.  Yea,  even 
tho  I  slept,  thoughts  were  active  in  my  dreams,  so  that  it 
would  seem  as  tho  I  had  really  spent  full  seven  years  upon  the 
work  in  its  relationship  to  thought. 

The  gradually  growing  manuscript  of  these  years  was  hidden 
and  deposited  in  many  places.  When  too  poor  to  rent  a  safety 
deposit  box,  I  kept  the  manuscript  in  old  coffee  cans  placed 
under  a  flagstone  of  our  cellar.  I  have  had  it  in  stone  jars, 
bread  cans,  old  trunks,  valises,  and  various  other  ready  recept 
acles  in  the  many  changes  of  home  I  have  been  forced  to  make. 
For  one  particular  receptacle  I  contracted  a  profound  disgust. 
It  was  an  old  chest  reeking  with  the  odor  of  musk.  I  did  not 
at  that  time  know  the  potency  of  that  particularly  vigorous 
scent.  What  a  powerful  line  of  descent  as  well  as  scent  it 
possesses,  for  it  was  handed  down  from  one  generation  of 
manuscript  to  another1,  until  it  actually  took  printers'  ink  itself 
to  master  it. 

I  have  had  the  manuscript  in  cities,  in  the  country,  on  the 
ocean,  and  in  the  mountains;  in  fact,  it  has  been  my  "Old  Man 
of  the  Sea,"  clinging  to  me  with  unshakable  tenacity;  and  too, 
the  subject  of  many  an  adventure.  Once  it  was  dropped  in 
the  street  late  at  night  by  a  prominent  journalist  whom  I  had 
inveigled  into  reading  it.  And  it  would  seem  as  if  the  fates 
had  at  last  consented  to  rid  me  of  my  burden  by  his  kindly 
burying  it  in  oblivion.  But  alas,  it  was  rescued  from  where  it 

xiii 


xiv  PERSONAL 

fell — a  mud  puddle,  by  a  kind  man  the  next  morning  and  duly 
returned  to  me. 

When  I  had  money  I  hired  a  typist  to  write  my  copy;  when 
I  was  without  money  I  did  it  myself.  Once,  after  the  mud 
puddle  incident,  I  paid  a  typist  in  advance  to  furnish  me  a 
new  copy.  She  started  bravely  upon  it,  but  got  so  sick  of  the 
job  that  she  quit  it  quite  unceremoniously.  I  felt  so  sorry  for 
her — and  well  knowing  that  nature  had  decreed  me  to  be  a 
henpecked  man,  tho  not  married — that  I  never  asked  her  for 
an  explanation  or  for  the  return  of  my  hard-earned  money, 
which  she  kept,  thinking  I  suppose,  that  she  had  more  than 
earned  it  in  doing  what  little  she  did.  I  trust  the  reader  will 
not  think  ill  of  me  when  I  confess  that  I  never  employed  but 
the  one  typist,  and  my  only  excuse  for  that  is,  at  that  particular 
time  I  had  a  steady  job  for  as  much  as  sixty  days,  and  my 
feelings  of  munificence  quite  got  the  better  of  me. 

In  spite  of  the  uncertain  income  which  I  enjoyed  during  these 
seven  years,  I  nevertheless  was  a  living  example  of  ancient 
Croesus  many  times  magnified.  My  mother  has  often  remarked, 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  supreme  self-suffi 
ciency  and  untold  millions  of  wealth  which  illumed  my  smile, 
when  returning,  bewhiskered,  unkempt,  and  ragged  from  some 
unknown  quarter  of  the  world,  and  holding  my  child — a  fresh 
bundle  of  manuscript — tightly  in  my  arms,  I  would  greet  her 
with  a  fond  caress  and  unfold  with  the  air  of  an  emperor  before 
her  indulgent  eyes,  a  few  quires  of  apparently  undecipherable 
hieroglyphics.  The  longer  my  beard,  the  more  devoted  to  my 
charge.  The  thinner  I  became,  the  plumper  and  more  rounded 
the  form  of  the  child.  Reduced  to  a  shadow  myself,  my  child 
attained  generous  proportions.  The  balder  I  grew,  the  more 
luxuriant  grew  the  golden  locks  of  my  adored  one. 

The  most  terrible  moment  of  my  life  was  upon  the  fatal  day 
that  I  chanced  to  read  in  a  stray  biographical  sketch  of  Thomas 
Carlyle,  of  the  loss  of  one  of  his  manuscripts  by  fire.  If — if 
the  like  should  happen  to  mine.  Perish — my  darling  child,  and 
I  left  comfortless.  Also  the  sad  fate  of  the  author  of  "David 
Harum"  made  a  great  impression  upon  me;  and  for  months  I 
brooded  and  feared  that  I  too  might  pass  away  before  my  child 
would  be  immortalized  in  printer's  ink. 

Beautiful  as  my  darling  was  to  me,  however,  others  thought 


PERSONAL  xv 

different.  No  matter  what  pretty  gowns  I  bought  for  her,  tho 
I  confess  I  could  only  afford  calico  and  gingham;  or  how  under 
my  appeal  she  behaved  her  sweetest  and  looked  her  best,  still 
others  thought  different.  I  have  implored  at  least  twenty  pub 
lishers  to  publish  this  work,  but  without  avail.  What!  I  a 
mere  working-man  and  my  child  only  a  poor  girl  of  the  masses, 
and  the  world  filled  with  talent  and  genius.  Nay!  Not  for 
you,  my  dear  sir.  Pass  on,  you  and  your  brat.  Make  way  for 
the  beauties  of  the  salon  and  the  drawing-room. 

Finally  a  friend,  whose  modesty  compels  me  to  conceal  his 
identity  in  the  press  name  of  this  volume,  took  pity  on  me,  and 
even  allowed  me  to  select  the  paper,  type,  and  binding  of  my 
adored  one.  His  was  a  case  of  the  unjust  judge.  "Lest  her  con 
tinual  coming  weary  me,  I  will  avenge  her  of  her  adversary." 

I  have  written  this  personal  account  expressly  for  the  benefit 
and  encouragement  of  those  of  my  fellow  workmen,  who,  like 
myself  perhaps,  laboring  for  years  to  express  an  idea,  however 
homely  or  simple  it  may  be;  may  not  despair,  but  patiently 
plod  on  to  a  late  but  well  earned  victory.  Victory  in  this  case 
being  not  that  of  popularity,  praise,  or  acceptance  by  the  public; 
but  that  of  being  heard — publication;  that  of  standing  up  in 
the  forum  of  Public  Opinion  and  sturdily  lifting  up  one's  voice 
for  what  he  believes  to  be  the  truth. 

Believe  me,  dear  friends,  no  grave  is  so  awful  as  the  grave 
that  smothers  a  voice  which  was  not  heard.  When  this  world  is 
judged,  who  knows  but  that  it  will  be  by  those  same  gentle 
voices,  which,  hushed  and  crushed  into  untimely  graves  by  a 
brutal  unheeding  humanity,  nevertheless  were  heard  by  the  great 
God  of  Israel,  and  their  words  emblazoned  upon  the  shining 
heights  of  heaven  for  the  rebuke  of  their  inhuman  brethren. 
Tortoise,  dear  friends,  tortoise.  It  was  the  painfully  plodding 
tortoise,  not  the  dashing  hare. 


PREFACE 

THIS  volume  is  published  as  a  protest  against,  and  a 
challenge  to,  what  the  author  terms  the  spirit  and  wor 
ship  of  cleverness  and  commercialism  in  our  modern 
fiction.  Three  leading  factors  have  brought  us  low  in  this  respect ; 
the  public,  the  publisher,  and  the  author.  The  public  demands, 
the  publisher  insists,  and  the  author  produces,  as  the  result  of 
the  insistence  and  the  influence  of  the  former  two,  that  con 
coction  of  charlatanism,  sensationalism,  and  get-the-money-ism, 
which  makes  up  the  arch  foe  of  all  true  art — cleverness. 

Within  the  lifetime  of  the  author  he  has  observed  a  writer 
widely  acclaimed  and  feted  because  she  said  that  she  admired 
and  loved  the  devil.  Another  writer  gained  considerable  notoriety 
and  the  shekels  of  a  portion  of  our  populace  in  a  revival  of 
Adamic  and  cave-man  life.  And  later  both  of  the  above  men 
tioned  parties,  the  devil-woman  and  the  cave-man,  have  devoted 
themselves  to  the  reporting  of  prize-fighting.  Another  writer's 
first  claim  to  notoriety  was  in  his  publication  of  a  false  death 
notice  in  a  New  York  paper  and  the  hoaxing  of  the  public  in 
the  purchasing  and  reading  of  an  autobiography  of  the  sup 
posed  victim.  Still  another  preyed  upon  the  superstitious  por 
tion  of  the  public,  by  joining  two  supposedly  unpropitious 
dates  of  the  calendar  as  the  title  of  his  volume;  and  then  offer 
ing  the  gambling  element  of  the  public  a  chance  by  offering  a 
large  reward  for  the  best  review  of  the  work.  Another  writer, 
and  one  whom  the  public  greatly  and  truly  respects,  wrote  a 
novel  of  the  Civil  War  giving  it  a  title  that  would  suggest  a 
full  portrayal  of  that  terrible  crisis,  and  yet  never  fought  or 
described  a  battle  in  it. 

These  are  but  mere  instances  noted  by  chance  of  almost  the 
entire  fabric  of  our  modern  fiction. 

It  is  also  of  comparatively  common  occurrence  to  note  new 
books  of  fiction  advertised  simultaneously  with  the  publisher's 
announcements,  as  "the  best  book  since  Ben  Hur,"  "declared 
by  critics  to  be  the  greatest  American  novel,"  "the  novel  of 

xvii 


xviii  PREFACE 

the  Age,"  "a  work  that  will  live,"  "you  cannot  lay  it  down 
until  you  have  finished  it,"  "the  American  Dickens  has  appeared." 
The  columns  of  the  newspapers  and  reviews  of  today  fairly 
teem  with  such  absurd  egotism  and  sophistry,  and  so  great  has 
become  the  worship  of  this  false  god,  Cleverness,  nowadays,  both 
in  the  writing  and  publication  of  fiction,  that  plain  honest  effort, 
true  wit,  and  worthy  endeavors  in  the  development  of  real  art 
in  fiction,  seem  never  to  succeed  in  winning  the  public,  unless 
they  too,  stoop  to  the  charlatanism  of  Cleverness,  by  twisting 
and  turning  an  otherwise  perfectly  legitimate  and  commendable 
effort,  so  as  to  have  it  declared  clever,  even  if  it  was  only  in  that 
last  carefully  strained  for  twist;  and  that  supreme  and  wholly 
false  idea,  that  it  must  be  declared  clever  above  everything  else, 
or  the  effort  is  doomed  to  failure. 

The  worship  of  Cleverness  springs  from  that  artificial  life  of 
unsatisfied  wealth  and  neglected  time,  known  as  Society. 

Society  is  an  itch,  which  Cleverness  scratches. 

Enter  the  social  structure  anywhere,  from  the  nation's  capitol 
to  the  county-seat,  from  the  metropolis  to  the  smallest  commer 
cial  center,  and  you  enter  a  smothered  fetid  world  of  lavender 
and  silk  which  covers  an  unsatisfied,  unholy  itch,  seeking  not  to 
be  cured,  but  rather  to  be  irritated;  and  that  much  sought  for 
irritant  is  Cleverness. 

The  only  cure  for  the  social  itch  is  the  courage  of  Society 
to  live  the  life  of  the  plain  people,  and  the  dominant  principle 
of  thftt  life  is  plain  truth,  loved,  sought,  and  lived. 

Cleverness  is  the  arch  dodger,  the  beat-it-around-the-corner,  the 
sneak-thru-the-grass. 

It  possesses  no  healthy  spirit  of,  "Come  on,  boys,  let's  meet 
the  issue  fairly  and  fight  it  out." 

No!  "It's  come,  let's  make  a  bluff,  and  make  our  get  away." 
It's  the,  "Deny  it,"  "Nothing  to  say,"  attitude,  rather  than  the, 
"Let's  talk  it  over,"  "What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

Babylon,  Greece,  Rome,  and  the  French  monarchy,  all  fell 
thru  the  rottenness  of  the  social  structure,  and  that  decay  first 
began  with  the  worship  of  the  false  god,  Cleverness. 

The  itch  became  a  sore,  the  sore  a  disease,  the  disease — death. 

Art  must  have  greater  ideal  than  cleverness.  Much  as  the 
geisha  may  clothe  and  conceal  herself  in  the  witchery  of  dress, 
endeavoring  to  accentuate  her  charms  in  a  marvel  of  lingerie; 


PREFACE  xix 

yet  those  students  who  break  in  the  door,  roughly  strip  her  as 
they  would  a  fowl  of  its  feathers,  and  view  her  as  she  really  is — 
naked  and  unadorned  save  by  her  natural  beauty. 

Art  is  the  meat  of  a  subject,  Cleverness  is  only  its  dress. 
Dress,  of  course,  has  its  art,  but  it  is  not  the  geisha,  it  is  merely 
the  dress. 

Cleverness  is  the  mistaking  of  the  dress  for  the  geisha — the 
subject. 

And  thus  in  fiction,  we  are  losing  the  real  things  in  the 
witchery,  the  loveliness  of  the  gowns  they  are  shown  in. 

When  we  will  have  abandoned  the  worship  of  dress  for  that 
of  the  subject,  we  will  again  have  gained  the  true  course  of  art. 

Turning  to  current  fiction,  one  will  scarce  find  a  department 
of  it  that  evidences  the  least  show  of  progress  in  comparison 
with  other  departments  of  literature.  Science,  religion,  politics, 
commerce,  history,  travel,  are  all  steadily  advancing  in  progres 
sive  merit.  Fiction  alone,  unless  poesy  may  be  included,  seems 
to  be  declining. 

The  reason? 

It  is  following  a  false  god — Cleverness. 

Let  its  producers  turn  to  the  true  things,  therefore,  and  put 
it  abreast  of  the  times.  And  more,  it  being  so  largely  the  domain 
of  invention,  imagination,  and  anticipation,  it  should  lead  all 
departments  of  literature  instead  of  following. 


I  don't  know  when  or  where  I  first  met  the  Idea  which  I 
have  endeavored  to  present  in  this  preface,  but  I  fancy  I  met 
her  in  one  of  those  great  towns  of  the  soul;  a  mighty  London, 
filled  with  the  roar  and  traffic  of  a  vast  horde  of  humanity.  It 
was  night  I  remember,  and  she  was  standing  on  the  corner  of  a 
crowded  thorofare  beneath  the  flaring  jet  of  an  old-fashioned 
street  lamp.  The  wind  was  restless,  and  the  rain  beating 
fiercely  at  times  upon  the  window-panes,  was  cold  and  dismal. 

I  was  young  at  the  time,  and  seemed  to  have  very  bright 
prospects  ahead  of  me.  I  had  thought  that  I  might  win  a  fair 
beautiful  bride,  a  nice  home  filled  with  all  those  things  which 
husband  and  wife  hold  precious,  and  gain  the  esteem  and  good 
will  of  my  neighbors  thru  a  long  and  happy  life.  But  out 
of  sympathy  for  she  whom  I  thus  met  under  'the  gas-jet  in  the 


xx  PREFACE 

rain,  I  abandoned  my  bright  prospects  in  life,  and  served  this 
Idea;  this  woman  of  sad  and  serious  mien,  she  whom  I  grew 
to  love  and  venerate  so  dearly,  that  for  lack  of  a  closer  name, 
I  called  her,  "Mother." 

She  said  it  was  not  for  her  sake  that  she  accepted  my  service, 
but  for  the  sake  of  the  many  orphaned  children  whom  she 
housed  in  her  hut  on  the  edge  of  the  great  town,  and  which  was 
set  where  a  broad  plain  swept  up  from  the  river  and  joined  a 
great  dark  wood. 

"It  is  for  these  children,  not  myself,  that  I  would  accept  your 
service,  my  youth,"  she  said,  "they  are  not  mine,  they  are  the 
children  of  those  parents  who  shamelessly  deserted  them,  follow 
ing  after  the  fortunes  of  that  great  lord  of  the  world,  Cleverness ; 
but  whom  I  know  to  be  a  mere  charlatan,  an  adventurer,  living 
off  the  fortunes  of  those  dupes  whom  he  hath  lured  unto  him. 
These  children  of  theirs  are  really  fine  children,  the  fruit  of 
their  best  and  happiest  years.  Oh!  If  they  had  only  stayed 
and  looked  after  and  developed  and  been  patient  and  good  to 
them,  instead  of  abandoning  them,  what  true  and  beautiful 
characters  they  might  have  become,  and  how  bright  they  would 
have  shone  in  my  world;  for  I — I  am  Mother  Art,"  she  said, 
smiling  sweetly,  "and  I  cannot  return  to  my  royal  palace  to 
enjoy  the  welcome  and  homage  of  my  loyal  subjects  until  these 
little  deserted  orphans  have  all  been  cared  for." 

I  served  the  great  mother,  lo,  these  many  years.  Not,  dear 
reader,  as  a  man  of  class  or  distinction  or  even  promise.  I  was 
merely  her  swineherd,  feeding  the  swine  at  the  pens,  the  fowls 
in  the  yard,  milking  the  cows,  and  tending  the  garden.  In  the 
fall  I  went  into  the  wood  and  cut  great  logs  for  the  winter's 
fire.  Also  to  the  town  I  drove  regularly,  purchasing  provisions 
and  clothing  for  the  children.  It  was  toil.  Oh!  What  toil! 
For  mother  depended  upon  me  entirely.  I  grew  thin  and  bald, 
my  hands  hard  and  calloused;  often  I  fainted  from  fatigue,  and 
my  soul  was  weary.  However,  it  took  only  a  cheering  word 
from  mother  to  revive  me,  and,  too,  no  matter  how  hard  I  might 
work,  she  was  always  working  the  more.  What  cooking  and 
mending.  What  patience  and  tender  solicitude  for  the  children. 
Occasionally  we  had  visitors;  they  must  be  important  people  I 
thought,  for  their  faces  shone  as  though  they  lived  in  a  happy 
land;  and  once  when  a  robe  fell  from  the  shoulder  of  one,  its 


PREFACE  xxi 

figure  shone  so  that  it  dazzled  my  eyes.  I  asked  mother  once 
who  they  were,  and  she  said  they  were  angels  come  to  tell  her 
of  the  affairs  of  her  distant  court. 

"Mother,"  I  said  one  day,  "I  am  sick  unto  death.  I  fear  I 
shall  never  get  well.  I  have  worn  myself  out  in  helping  you 
with  the  children.  My  only  regret  is  that  I  cannot  stay  with 
you  always,  you  are  so  sweet  and  unselfish;  and,  too,  I  would 
like  to  stay  and  see  how  beautiful  and  grand  the  children  will 
be  when  they  are  grown  up." 

"My  son,  my  son,"  she  replied,  "Your  task  has,  indeed,  been 
hard,  but  it  is  done.  Tomorrow  I  shall  take  the  children  to  my 
royal  palace  and  they  shall  be  with  me  forever,  for  their  parents, 
by  reason  of  the  lapse  of  time,  have  forfeited  all  right  to  them, 
and  they  belong  to  me.  I  call  them,  the  real — the  true  children 
of  Art,  and  no  writer  who  has  abandoned  such  as  these  for  the 
false  pleasures  of  the  court  of  Cleverness,  can  ever  hope  to 
regain  them." 

"  Mother,"  I  replied,  "  Once  I  had  hoped  that  I  might  see  your 
beautiful  palace,  but,  alas,  it  is  too  late  now  for  I  am  dying, 
mother." 

"  My  son,  my  dear  faithful  son,"  she  said,  and  how  her  words 
thrilled  me  and  gave  me  solace  even  as  I  was  drooping,  "  You 
will  indeed  die,  but  only  to  live  again  and  enter  a  new  world. 
My  world,  dear  son,  the  beautiful  world  of  Art;  the  realm  of 
delight,  of  beauty,  and  of  truth.  I  have  never  told  you  your 
name,  my  son,  but  I  will  now,  for  you  have  earned  it.  It  is, 
DUTY,  dear  son;  the  plodding,  faithful,  patient  burden  carrier 
of  the  soul." 

"And  will  I  be  strong  and  handsome  in  this  new  world,  dear 
mother?"  I  asked,  "you  know  that  when  I  first  met  you  it  was 
my  plan  to  be  a  real  knight,  with  shining  armor  and  wielding 
a  great  lance  wherewith  I  might  win  a  beautiful  bride  and  live 
as  other  men  have  done.  But,  oh,  this  toil,  dear  mother,  it  has 
made  me  old  and  stiff,  and  my  body  stooped  and  bowed." 

"  My  son,  have  you  never  heard,  that  the  most  beautiful 
princess  in  existence  is  yet  to  be  won,  and  that  you  alone  can 
win  her.  In  our  new  world  you  shall  gain  everything  that  you 
were  denied  in  this  world.  Your  body  will  be  strong  and  beauti 
ful.  Your  face  handsome  and  bright.  Your  armor  all  shining 
and  golden  hangs  in  my  palace.  Your  steed  fit  and  mighty 


xxii  PREFACE 

for  the  field  is  even  now  galloping  upon  the  palace  green,  and 
your  bride  awaits  you  at  the  pavilion  of  the  tourney,  where  no 
foe  can  hope  to  resist  you,  and  all  shall  yield  and  hail  you  as 
victor." 

"And — and  what  is  her  name,  dear  mother?"  I  cried,  even 
as  I  lay  dying. 

"  The  only  bride  that  is  fit  for  the  world's  greatest  hero, 
DUTY,  my  son,  is  LOVE,  and  she  is  yours." 

"  Love,  love,"  I  cried,  "Oh !  How  beautiful !  I  am  glad  that 
I  served  you,  good  mother." 


INTRODUCTION 

PROBABLY  the  most  intensely  interesting  and  perplexing 
question  which  has  agitated  the  students  and  philosophers 
of  all  the  peoples  and  ages  of  the  earth,  is  that  of  the 
operation  and  the  differentiation  of  that  marvelous  entity,  the 
mind. 

What  mighty  scholars  have  tried  to  crack  that  adamantine 
nut,  the  soul? 

What  millions  of  earnest  and  entreating  individuals  have  en 
deavored  to  ferret  out  that  master  secret,  the  spirit? 

In  Judaic-Christian  history,  God  proclaimed  Himself  unto 
Moses  as,  "I  am  that  I  am."  Centuries  later  the  Christ  pro 
claimed  that,  "God  is  a  spirit,"  and  today,  after  a  well  connected 
history  of  several  thousand  years  in  which  notable  instances 
similar  to  the  above  could  be  mentioned  in  the  narratives  of 
other  histories  and  peoples,  man  sits  before  this  appalling 
mystery  in  helpless  and  despairing  contemplation,  pathetically 
repeating  the  words  of  Descartes,  "I  think,  therefore  I  am," 
as  if  they  at  least  granted  him  the  proof  of  existence.  And 
very  often,  such  is  the  extremity  of  his  tremor  and  travail,  he 
pleads,  "Surely,  surely,  dear  Lord,  this  is  I,"  and  yet,  pinching 
himself  till  the  very  creature  cries  out  in  pain,  he  doubts;  alas, 
he  still  doubts. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  the  intention  of  the  author  to  inflict  an 
already  overburdened  humanity  with  strange,  startling,  or  pe 
culiar  ideas  upon  this  important  subject,  but  rather  to  introduce 
the  uninitiated  into  that  peculiarly  charming  circle  of  fascina 
tion,  whose  terrors — and  they  are  many — have  not  as  yet  in 
the  author's  experience,  outweighed  its  sublime  beauties  and 
unspeakable  delights.  And  while  the  author  feels  the  necessity 
of  subscribing  a  few  remarks  relative  to  the  scheme  of  his  work, 
yet  he  does  so  entirely  in  the  role  of  a  poor  and  humble  workman 
endeavoring  to  describe  the  mechanics  of  his  creation,  and  not 
in  the  guise  of  an  austere  and  learned  metaphysician. 

Briefly  told,  the  scheme  of  The  Theatre  Terrible  is  as  follows: 

xxiii 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

the  soul  is  a  THEATRE,  in  which  thoughts  are  the  PLAYERS, 
and  the  spirit,  or  ego,  is  the  SPECTATOR. 

This  peculiar  differentiation  is  accounted  for  thusly;  the  soul 
is  looked  upon  as  strictly  the  containing  thing:  i.  e.,  containing 
the  world  of  thought.  It  is  the  domain  of  thought,  that  in 
which  thought  acts.  It  is  to  thought  what  the  universe  is  to 
matter.  It  contains  and  is  the  field  of  all  action  of  thought 
just  as  the  universe  is  the  field  of  all  action  of  matter.  Ap 
parently  it  has  within  it  all  knowledge,  yet  the  spirit,  or  ego, 
may  discover  within  it  and  comprehend  only  a  very  small  por 
tion  of  the  whole.  Exactly  as  man  has  discovered  very  little 
of  the  universe  compared  with  that  which  remains  to  be  dis 
covered,  so  his  spirit  is  limited  in  its  discoveries  in  the  vast 
recesses  of  his  soul. 

Thoughts  are  the  players  of  the  soul.  They  take  the  form, 
character,  and  personality  of  every  conceivable  thing.  They 
are  the  creatures  of  the  soul  world,  just  as  there  are  creatures 
of  the  material  world.  They  inhabit  the  soul  world  just  as  posi 
tively  and  with  as  distinct  individualities  and  natures  as  do  the 
material  creatures  of  the  material  world. 

The  spirit,  or  ego,  the  "I  AM"  of  man,  is  the  spectator  within 
the  soul;  and  is  the  monarch,  the  lord,  and  the  steward  of  the 
soul,  within  the  prescribed  limits  and  nature  of  that  soul  world 
to  which  it  is  born.  Just  as  a  man  is  limited  by  nature  to  his 
actions  in  the  material  world,  opposed  and  battled  against  by 
other  men  and  conditions;  just  so  his  spirit  has  prescribed  limits 
in  the  world  of  the  soul,  meeting  opposing  forces  of  thought  and 
conditions,  until  often  the  conflict  of  thoughts  within  the  soul 
of  an  individual,  affecting  and  influencing  his  spirit,  is  one  of 
appalling  significance,  affecting  whole  families,  communities,  and 
nations. 

The  supreme  and  chief  function  of  the  spirit,  or  ego,  of  man, 
is  consciousness,  and  its  two  most  important  attributes  are  will 
and  reason. 

Will  is  the  power  militant  of  the  spirit;  the  hunter,  the  pur 
suer,  and  the  capturer  of  thoughts  upon  whatever  continent, 
sphere,  or  domain  of  the  soul  it  is  fitted  and  permitted  within 
the  limits  of  its  nature  to  travel. 

Reason  is  the  power  contemplative  and  reflective  of  the  spirit; 
the  scientist,  the  logician;  who  observes,  classifies,  compares,  and 
utilizes  those  thoughts  which  Will  has  captured. 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

Emotion  is  the  effect  of  thought  upon  consciousness. 

By  mind  is  meant  the  entire  phenomenon  and  association  of 
soul,  thought,  and  spirit. 

A  man  is  good  or  bad,  exactly  in  that  proportion  in  which 
his  spirit  has  inherited  good  or  bad,  together  with  its  ability 
to  absorb  and  apply  good  thoughts  and  reject  evil  ones,  and 
vice  versa, 

Because  a  bad  thought  enters  and  parades  the  stage  of  one's 
soul,  it  is  no  sign  that  a  man  is  bad.  He  is  bad  or  good  only 
as  his  spirit  accepts  good  or  bad. 

Herein  rests  the  absolute  sublimnity  and  terribleness  of  the 
Greater  Drama  of  The  Theatre  Terrible;  with  the  fate  and 
salvation  of  a  living,  conscious,  glorious  spirit  at  stake  in  the 
awful  clutch  and  throttle  of  hell's  most  lascivious  and  malevolent 
fiends  and  heaven's  fairest  and  mightiest  angels. 

Herein  the  greatest  dramas  of  existence  take  place,  whether  in 
the  soul  of  man  or  in  the  awful  soul  of  God;  even  the  humblest 
of  souls  presenting  the  appalling  spectacle  of  a  drama  so  intense 
as  to  agitate  unto  the  utmost  concern  the  watchers  and  onlookers 
of  both  heaven  and  hell. 

Truth,  God's  perfect  law,  is  the  spirit's  saviour;  Evil,  its 
destroyer. 

God,  the  Great  Spirit,  is  a  living  and  all  glorious  universal 
Father. 

No  man  who  has  not  attained  and  enthroned  Truth  within 
his  soul,  can  ever  hope  to  enjoy  His  presence;  but  with  Truth 
once  attained  it  necessarily  follows  that  God,  as  the  Sovereign 
of  Truth,  also  becomes  enthroned  within  the  soul. 

God  communicates  directly  with  man  thru  the  medium  of 
thought,  which  communication  is  invariably  accompanied  with 
man's  unmistakable  perception  and  consciousness  of  the  Divine 
Presence. 

The  greatest  of  human  delights  is  the  knowledge  of  and  the 
adoration  of  God.  The  greatest  of  all  emotions  is  induced  by 
the  visitation  of  the  Divine  Presence. 

The  soul  is  immortal. 

It  is  a  book  of  record  which  God  reads  at  a  glance,  and  that 
record  is  the  thought  inscribed  therein,  and  that  thought  repre 
sents  the  stewardship  of  the  spirit,  and  by  it  the  soul  is  judged. 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

With  full  knowledge  and  consciousness  of  the  mechanism  of 
the  soul  as  ahove  described,  man  actually  holds  the  keys  of 
heaven  and  hell  within  his  grasp.  He  may  ponder  and  debate 
ever  so  earnestly  the  ethics  of  the  soul,  from  Moses  to  Emerson, 
but  of  its  mechanism  he  need  no  longer  have  a  doubt. 

CHARLES  EDWIN  HEWES, 

Estes  Park,  Colorado. 


PART   ONE 


A  FOOT  OF  GRANITE 


BOOK    ONE 

THE  40   ROUNDS 

THE  last  hole  father,"  said  Standish. 
"  Well — it's  a  good  one,  my  boy.    Better  than  the 
first,  yea,  better  than  the  one  just  before  it,"  said 
Peter,  carefully  examining  the  hole.    "  You  have  become 
an  expert,  Standish.     There  isn't  another  man  in  Clear 
•Creek  County  who  could  drive  those  holes  as  deep  and 
true  in  the  same  length  of  time." 

After  Standish  had  finished  tamping  the  charge  and 
arranged  the  fuse,  both  father  and  son  stood  silently  for 
a  moment,  looking  at  the  solid  granite  breast  of  the  tun 
nel,  which  would  soon  be  rent  by  the  discharge  of  the  con 
quering  dynamite.  Then  they  carried  the  drills  and  tools 
several  yards  toward  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  and,  return 
ing,  Standish  lighted  the  fuse.  Five  minutes  later  the 
two  men  emerged  into  the  bright  Colorado  sunshine,  until 
the  tunnel  cleared  itself  of  the  smoke  and  gases  caused  by 
the  explosion. 

Peter  Brown  was  not  a  very  old  man,  but  rheumatism 
and  wounds  contracted  in  the  great  war  of  the  Rebellion, 

thru  which  he  had  served  as  a  private  in  the th,  Iowa, 

had  reduced  him  to  the  physical  weakness  of  old  age.  His 
entire  life  had  been  one  of  privations  and  sorrows,  and  at 
the  decease  of  an  adorable  wife,  he  had  passionately  craved 
a  change  of  scene  and  climate  for  both  his  physical  and 
mental  welfare. 

Disposing  of  his  few  possessions  in  the  little  Iowa  hamlet 
where  he  had  followed  the  vocation  of  a  coal  miner  since 
his  discharge  from  the  army,  he  had  one  day  purchased 
tickets  for  both  himself  and  only  child,  Standish,  a  young 
man  of  twenty  years,  and  amid  the  farewells  and  felici 
tations  of  their  neighbors  and  Peter's  old  army  comrades, 
they  had  taken  the  Overland  train  for  Denver.  Arriving 


4  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

safely  in  the  mountain  metropolis,  Peter  was  at  once  at 
tracted  by  hand  bills  and  posters,  announcing  a  cheap  ex 
cursion  of  the  C.  C.  &  U.  By.,  to  the  new  mining  camp 
of  Plume,  its  western  terminus. 

Peter  had  always  admitted  one  weakness,  and  that  was 
mining.  It  fascinated  him.  He  had  long  picked  the  thin 
bituminous  coal  strata  of  his  native  state,  but  this  common 
product  was  at  that  time  a  drug  on  the  market.  Its  value 
never  changed  save  for  an  occasional  slight  fluctuation  in 
the  market  caused  by  some  local  condition.  True,  one 
could  make  a  living  at  coal  mining,  but  hardly  a  fortune, 
confronted  as  the  producer  was  with  numerous  competitors 
and  a  large  acreage  open  to  development  on  every  hand. 
Peter  Brown's  dream  had  always  been  to  face  the  precious 
metals  in  their  native  fastnesses,  and  he  had  often  men 
tioned  this  desire  to  his  wife.  One  day  he  had  said  to  her 
in  a  burst  of  real  enthusiasm,  "  Mary,  it  seems  to  me 
to  be  such  a  clean  business,  to  mine  the  precious  stuff  from 
old  Mother  Nature.  You  rob  no  man,  and  what  mineral 
you  wrest  from  her,  adds  to  the  wealth  of  the  world.  In 
fact,  you  become  a  real  benefactor,  with  the  clean  virgin 
gold  plucked  from  the  rocks,  putting  into  almost  imme 
diate  circulation,  Nature's  precious  hoard  of  silver  and 
gold." 

Mrs.  Brown  had  smiled  indulgently  in  reply,  not  deny 
ing  her  hard  toiling  husband  entrance  to  the  bright  realm 
of  Hope.  And  as  death  had  since  taken  her  from  him, 
Peter  had  discovered  at  that  sad  time  the  loss  of  a  far 
more  precious  treasure  than  silver  or  gold. 

The  three  days  that  they  waited  before  the  departure 
of  the  promised  first  train  to  Plume,  the  elder  Brown  had 
spent  in  purchasing  a  few  supplies,  including  a  small  tent 
and  cooking  outfit;  in  visiting  the  United  States  land 
office;  familiarizing  himself  with  the  mountain  country 
by  a  constant  scrutiny  of  the  State  maps;  and  observing 
the  various  conditions  of  Western  life,  of  which  the  streets 
of  Denver  afforded  a  rich  and  varied  prospect.  Last  but 
not  least,  he  paid  a  visit  to  the  office  of  his  old  regimental 
commander,  Colonel  Charles  Rose,  who  was  actively  in 
terested  in  several  stage  and  freight  lines.  To  his  keen 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  5 

disappointment,  however,  the  Colonel  was  absent,  attend 
ing  to  business  matters  in  Salt  Lake  and  San  Francisco. 

When  the  day  of  the  excursion  arrived,  Peter  and  his 
son  boarded  the  train,  in  company  with  some  three  score 
or  more  of  eager  Westerners,  and  the  principal  officers  of 
the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.  Every  mile  of  the  narrow  mountain 
gulch  which  the  snorting,  stuffy,  narrow-gage  locomotive 
penetrated,  was  examined  in  the  most  intense  delight  by 
the  former  lowan  and  his  son,  and  after  the  tiny  train 
had  successfully  climbed  the  last  steep  grade  from  Joe- 
town,  the  two  Browns  landed  safely  in  Plume,  amid  the 
wild  hurrahs  of  jubilant  miners  and  townsmen,  who  had 
turned  out  en  masse  to  greet  the  arrival  of  the  first  thru 
train  from  Denver. 

Plume  at  that  time  had  several  large  and  paying  mines 
within  its  borders,  grouped  principally  about  the  base  of 
a  majestic  peak  known  as  Castle  Mountain. 

The  mining  district  in  this  vicinity  took  its  name  from 
the  largest  and  best  producing  mine  in  the  entire  gulch, 
the  Pay  Rock.  The  ores  obtained  from  the  district  were 
often  solid  galena,  carrying  large  values  in  copper,  silver, 
and  gold;  and  others  not  so  valuable,  were  in  prime  de 
mand  with  the  smelters  on  account  of  their  containing 
valuable  iron  sulphides — an  important  factor  in  the  smelt 
ing  of  precious  ores.  The  veins  containing  these  ores 
were  generally  true  fissure  veins,  sometimes  quite  wide, 
often  narrowing,  but  always  constant;  and  with  increased 
depth,  maintaining  their  values  excellently. 

Upon  investigation,  Brown  found  to  his  great  disap 
pointment,  that  outside  of  the  Pay  Rock  property,  very 
little  mining  was  being  done  at  that  time,  owing  to  several 
badly  mixed  matters  of  litigation — the  curse  of  the  mining 
world.  Also  it  struck  him  with  considerable  force,  that 
the  area  of  mining  was  restricted  to  such  narrow  limits  as 
then  prevailed  in  the  region.  It  seemed  incredible  to  him, 
for  instance,  that  the  balance  of  Castle  Mountain  and  its 
noble  neighbor  across  the  creek,  Mt.  Emerald,  named  for 
the  solid  mass  of  pines  and  spruces  which  covered  its 
broad  flanks,  could  be  void  of  veins  similar  to  those  worked 
in  the  Pay  Rock,  altho  several  reputable  citizens  of  Plume 


6  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

had  told  him  positively  that  both  mountains  had  been 
carefully  prospected  by  dozens  of  veteran  prospectors  with 
out  the  slightest  success. 

Undaunted  by  these  statements,  however,  Brown  and 
his  son  pitched  their  tent  on  the  edge  of  a  little  park  of 
pines  on  the  north  side  of  the  creek,  and  began  to  sys 
tematically  prospect  the  entire  slope  of  Castle  Mountain 
above  the  Pay  Rock  mine.  After  six  weeks  of  the  most 
careful  work,  they  abandoned  the  Castle,  and  pitching 
•their  tent  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek,  they  began 
operations  on  the  north  slope  of  Mt.  Emerald. 

This  superb  mountain  was  much  more  difficult  to  pros 
pect,  however,  than  the  Castle,  whose  steep  slopes  were 
almost  devoid  of  vegetation  and  whose  granite  surface 
was  quite  naked  to  the  eye.  With  the  slopes  of  the  Em 
erald  clothed  in  masses  of  pines  and  spruces,  prospecting 
could  only  be  accomplished  by  laboriously  scraping  away 
the  thick  blanket  of  moss,  rotten  logs,  pine-needles,  and 
talus,  down  to  the  surface  of  the  mountain,  then  carefully 
inspecting  the  small  space  thus  exposed  in  search  of  the 
desired  outcropping. 

Brown  began  prospecting  the  Emerald,  acting  upon  the 
theory  that  the  Pay  Rock  lode,  which  followed  a  course 
almost  exactly  due  north  and  south,  might  possibly  con 
tinue  at  a  great  depth  beneath  the  creek,  and  outcrop 
again  upon  the  Emerald.  Taking  observations  about  the 
Pay  Rock  property,  he  began  his  campaign  upon  the  Em 
erald,  by  making  a  careful  survey,  assisted  by  Standish, 
measuring  the  distance  and  locating  the  probable  course 
of  the  vein  from  the  shaft  house  of  the  Pay  Rock  to  the 
first  upraise  of  the  Emerald  across  the  creek,  at  which 
point  he  began  operations. 

He  was  somewhat  appalled  by  the  enormity  of  his  un 
dertaking  at  first,  for  nature,  as  if  to  utterly  defy  his  ef 
forts,  had  placed  a  thick  grove  of  conifers  upon  the  exact 
spot  which  he  had  fixed  upon  as  the  possible  location  of  a 
recurrence  of  the  Pay  Rock  lode  outcrop.  But  quite  un 
daunted,  however,  the  Browns  continued  day  after  day  in 
their  arduous  search  in  -the  midst  of  the  pines;  and  each 
day  found  them  a  little  higher  on  the  mountain  side,  un- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  7 

til  at  the  end  of  six  weeks,  with  clothing  torn  almost  to 
shreds,  and  with  hands  and  faces  scratched  and  lacerated 
by  the  razor-edged  talus  and  sharp  pine-needles,  they 
found  themselves  fully  two  thousand  feet  above  the  level 
of  the  creek. 

As  the  Emerald  still  towered  thousands  of  feet  above 
•them,  their  only  solace  after  these  terrible  weeks  of  toil, 
was  that  the  pines  were  thinning  fast,  and  eventually,  as 
they  approached  timber-line,  the  slopes  of  the  mountain 
would  offer  them  a  bare  and  open  surface.  But  as  they 
gradually  ascended  the  mountain,  however,  Brown's  hopes 
fell,  as  every  foot  of  ascent  took  them  further  away  from 
the  creek.  For  he  had  in  the  infancy  of  his  undertaking 
deluded  himself  with  the  hope  that  the  lode,  when  struck, 
could  be  very  successfully  mined  by  driving  a  short  tunnel 
into  it  from  the  edge  of  the  creek.  Which  method  in  this 
district  was  the  ideal  manner  of  conducting  mining  opera 
tions,  as  the  great  volumes  of  water  which  flowed  into 
nearly  every  shaft  in  the  district  thru  subterranean  water 
ways  draining  the  vast  regions  above,  entailed  an  enor 
mous  annual  expense  for  pumping  machinery  to  keep  the 
mine  workings  free  enough  from  water  to  permit  opera 
tions. 

Thus  the  great  pumps  of  the  Pay  Rock  worked  night 
and  day,  year  after  year.  If  the  pumping  ceased,  the 
mine  immediately  filled;  and  thousands  of  dollars  were 
lost  in  pumping  it  out  again,  replacing  the  rotting  timbers, 
and  placing  the  workings  in  condition  to  resume  opera 
tions.  As  careful  tests  had  proven  that  there  was  no  val 
uable  ore  in  the  Castle  above  the  shaft  house  of  the  Pay 
Rock,  and  that  the  lode  dipped  gradually  into  the  moun 
tain  instead  of  toward  the  creek,  the  history  of  that  prop 
erty  had  been  one  of  continually  sinking  upon  the  vein, 
and  patiently  pumping  out  the  water. 

However,  thru  a  -tunnel  driven  directly  into  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  such  as  Peter  Brown  proposed,  the  water 
would  flow  by  gravity,  and  thus  drain  the  entire  workings 
of  the  mine  above,  without  the  large  expense  of  buying 
and  maintaining  an  enormous  pumping  plant. 

At  this  point  in  his  labors,  however,  Brown  would  have 


8  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

been  glad  to  have  accepted  a  vein  or  lode  at  any  disad 
vantage,  for  not  a  sign  of  an  outcropping  had  been  ex 
posed  to  reward  his  efforts.  Despair  had  not  entirely 
seized  him  as  yet,  and  his  face  still  showed  the  dogged 
determination  of  the  grim  veteran  that  he  was.  But  he 
was  glad  to  call  a  truce,  however,  and  both  Standish  and 
he  spent  several  days  in  camp,  during  which  time  they 
cleaned  up  the  camp  outfit  and  mended  their  clothes. 
They  also  made  a  trip  to  Plume  and  laid  in  a  final  stock  of 
provisions;  and  greatly  refreshed  by  their  brief  respite, 
father  and  son  renewed  their  toil. 

One  day,  almost  immediately  after  resuming  their  pick 
ing  and  shoveling  in  the  loose  pine-needles  and  rock  far 
up  the  side  of  the  Emerald,  Peter  was  startled  by  a  loud 
cry  from  Standish,  who  immediately  came  running  to 
him  with  a  large  piece  of  rock  in  his  hand. 

Peter  grasped  it  excitedly,  and  after  a  careful  examina 
tion,  declared  it  to  be  as  fine  a  specimen  of  honeycomb 
quartz  as  he  had  ever  seen. 

"  My  God !  What  a  fine  prospect,  wh — where  did  it 
lay?"  he  asked  eagerly,  following  Standish  up  the  hill  as 
fast  as  his  infirmities  allowed.  And  much  to  the  old  vet 
eran's  astonishment,  Standish  showed  him  where  it  had 
lain  quite  bare  to  the  sky  on  top  of  a  mass  of  pine-needles. 

"Why,  boy,"  exclaimed  the  panting  old  veteran,  ''this 
has  fallen  here  within  the  last  few  days.  Inside  of  a 
week  or  so  at  the  outside.  The  ledge  which  this  broke 
from  is  undoubtedly  above  us.  It  can't  —  it  can't  be  very 
far,"  he  mused,  "the  trees  are  too  thick.  Yes,  this  piece 
of  quartz  must  have  broken  loose  and  rolled  down  here 
inside  the  last  few  days  Great  Caesar !  That  ledge  above 
us!"  he  cried,  motioning  excitedly.  And  as  Standish 
leaped  up  the  mountain  to  a  ledge  of  rock  about  a  hun 
dred  feet  above  them,  which  showed  dimly  thru  a  thicket 
of  young  jack-pines,  he  eagerly  scanned  its  face. 

"Hurrah,  father,  it's  here  —  it's  here!"  he  cried  tri 
umphantly,  and  in  a  flash  the  crippled  old  soldier  Bad 
climbed  the  hill,  and  was  eagerly  examining  the  wide 
streak  of  glittering  quartz  as  it  lay  exposed  between  two 
walls  of  granite;  and  a  few  moments  later  he  leaped  at 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE  9 

Standish,  and  father  and  son  hugged  each  other  like  ship 
wrecked  sailors  after  sighting  a  succoring  sail.  Peter 
Brown's  dream  had  become  a  reality,  and,  best  of  all,  the 
lode  looked  feasible  for  a  tunnel. 

To  his  great  amazement,  after  his  first  transports  of  joy 
were  over,  Peter  found  that  the  lode  as  it  lay  exposed  to 
his  view,  pointed  almost  diagonally  across  their  path,  thus 
completely  exploding  his  theory  of  finding  a  continuance 
of  the  Pay  Rock  lode.  Instead  of  following  the  general 
direction  of  the  Pay  Rock  lode  across  the  creek,  it  pointed 
more  to  the  east  and  west ;  and  might  possibly,  by  tracing 
the  vein  to  the  east,  bring  it  close  to  the  creek.  Thus  as 
prospectors  often  do,  they  had  discovered  an  absolutely 
new  lode  in  their  search  for  an  old  one. 

After  a  careful  examination  Peter  became  convinced 
that  if  the  vein  held  the  same  direction  as  it  lay  thus  par 
tially  exposed,  it  would  reach  the  creek  nearly  opposite 
and  within  less  than  a  thousand  yards  of  the  C.  C.  &  U. 
Railway  depot  in  Plume.  And  that  night,  following  such 
a  day  of  excitement  and  delirious  joy,  the  old  veteran  said 
to  himself,  after  carefully  assuring  himself  that  Standish 
was  fast  asleep,  "  Peter,  you  darned  old  fool,  why  didn't 
you  go  up  the  hill  and  work  down,  instead  of  killing  your 
self  in  that  wild  tangle  of  pines?" 

And  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  this  participant 
of  many  battles  and  bearer  of  honorable  wounds  became 
enraged;  and  finally  fell  asleep,  fully  convinced  that  his 
six  weeks  of  toil  on  the  side  of  the  Emerald  could  all 
have  been  averted  if  he  had  used  a  little  more  "hoss  sense," 
and  taken  a  preliminary  prospect  from  the  uppermost  bar 
ren  and  open  slopes  of  the  mountain  down  to  the  forest  of 
pines. 

After  several  days  of  patient  picking,  shoveling  and 
close  compass  work,  Peter  traced  the  vein  on  a  compara 
tively  true  course  bearing  toward  the  creek.  And  at  the 
end  of  two  weeks  he  had  proved  it  to  within  a  half  mile  of 
the  railroad  station  in  Plume,  at  an  elevation  of  fully  two 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  creek.  Beyond  this 
point  he  could  not  trace  it,  for  it  ran  straight  into  an  enor- 


10          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

mous  projecting  ledge  of  the  Emerald  and  did  not  emerge 
upon  the  other  side. 

The  exact  measured  distance  from  the  ledge  where  the 
outcropping  finally  disappeared,  to  the  south  bank  of  the 
creek,  was  one  thousand  nine  hundred  and  eighty-five  feet. 
And  it  was  seven  hundred  and  sixty  feet  from  the  edge 
of  the  creek,  to  a  point  upon  the  mountain  side  where  it 
would  be  practicable  to  start  a  tunnel,  which  point  was 
,  fully  five  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the  creek.  De 
ducting  this  amount  from  the  full  measured  distance, 
Peter  figured  that  a  tunnel  of  twelve  hundred  and  twenty- 
five  feet  would  cut  the  lode  at  a  depth  of  fifteen  hundred 
feet.  To  say  that  the  magnificence  of  the  proposition  fairly 
staggered  the  old  veteran  would  be  putting  it  mildly. 
However,  he  lost  no  time  in  idle  speculation,  but  imme 
diately  staked  put  a  sufficient  number  of  claims  so  as  to 
include  the  entire  length  of  the  vein,  with  a  goodly  allow 
ance  at  both  ends.  And  immediately  adjoining  the  C. 
C.  &  U.  Ry.  right-of-way  he  placed  his  stakes  for  a 
tunnel  site. 

After  these  preliminaries,  he  boarded  the  first  train  for 
Denver,  with  a  full  description  and  measurement  of  his 
claims,  together  with  some  rich  looking  samples  of  the  ore. 

His  movements  up  to  this  time  had  aroused  no  suspi 
cions  of  a  "strike"  among  the  townspeople  of  Plume,  as 
he  had  conducted  all  of  his  surveying  operations  at  night, 
taking  advantage  of  several  moonlight  nights  that  oc 
curred  at  this  juncture  of  his  enterprise. 

Arriving  in  Denver,  he  wTent  straight  to  Colonel  Rose's 
office,  and  was  delighted  to  find  that  ruddy  old  Westerner 
at  his  desk. 

Colonel  Charles  Rose  was  a  Kentuckian  of  straight  Puri 
tan  descent,  whose  ancestors,  instead  of  emigrating  to  the 
region  north  of  the  Ohio,  as  had  Peter  Brown's,  had  moved 
south  and  west,  into  Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  The  Col 
onel  had  married  a  handsome  woman  of  aristocratic  Vir 
ginian  Cavalier  ancestry,  whose  ancestors  had  been  settled 
in  Kentucky  some  time  before  the  arrival  of  the  Roses. 
Just  previous  to  the  Rebellion,  the  Colonel,  anticipating 
the  inevitable  conflict  and  in  full  sympathy  with  the  abo- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE  11 

lition  movement,  had  moved  to  Iowa,  and  there,  by  reason 
of  his  exceptional  civic  and  military  abilities,  had  led  a 
regiment  to  war. 

After  the  two  old  campaigners  had  exchanged  hearty 
greetings,  and  engaged  in  a  little  round  of  old  times,  Peter 
finally  mentioned  his  mining  project  to  the  Colonel,  who, 
delighted  with  the  description,  and  closely  examining  the 
ore,  at  which  he  was  an  expert,  pronounced  the  find  a 
bonanza. 

"  Egad,  Pete,  what  are  you  going  to  name  the  lode?"  he 
asked. 

Peter  looked  up  in  some  surprise,  as  he  had  entirely 
overlooked  that  part  of  the  program.  But  as  he  looked 
up  at  the  Colonel,  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  old  flag  of 
the  army  corps  under  which  he  and  the  Colonel  had  both 
fought,  and  which  hung  upon  the  wall  above  the  Colonel's 
desk  carefully  framed  under  glass.  The  emblem  of  the 
corps  was  a  cartridge  box,  bearing  the  ominous  legend,  "40 
Rounds." 

"  By  gosh!  Colonel,  I'll  call  it  the  40  Rounds,  after  our 
old  flag,"  he  said,  in  the  celebration  of  which  the  two  old 
vets  proceeded  to  tap  a  bottle ;  after  which  jovial  christen 
ing,  the  Colonel  recommended  the  services  of  his  son 
John,  a  rising  young  lawyer  of  Denver  at  that  time,  for 
filing  and  making  out  the  proper  papers  for  the  discovery 
and  the  ownership  of  the  40  Rounds  lode. 

After  dinner  at  the  Colonel's  residence,  and  a  call  at  an 
assayer's  office  to  have  the  ore  tested,  Peter  obtained  his 
papers  and  left  for  Plume  satisfied  that  he  was  in  posses 
sion  of  a  real  bonanza. 

When  the  people  of  Plume  at  last  got  wind  of  Peter's 
"strike"  it  caused  considerable  excitement,  and  resulted 
in  the  filing  of  several  claims  immediately  adjoining  the 
property  of  the  40  Rounds.  Strange  to  say,  many  of  the 
oldest  miners  of  Plume  had  prospected  this  same  ground 
many  times,  but  Nature  had  evidently  guarded  her  secret 
from  them  in  order  to  reward  the  old  soldier  and  his  son. 

The  next  mail  brought  the  assayer's  test,  and  to  Peter's 
delight,  the  ore  proved  values  to  the  extent  of  $47.85  per 
ton,  principally  silver,  tho  carrying  excellent  values  in 


12  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

gold  and  copper,  with  a  considerable  percentage  of  lead. 

After  his  first  transports  of  joy  were  over,  Peter  soon  be 
gan  to  realize  that  it  is  one  thing  to  merely  prospect  a  mine 
and  another  to  develop  it.  Like  nearly  every  other  busi 
ness  proposition,  the  mining  business  depends  largely 
•upon  the  extent  of  one's  capital.  If  Peter  had  possessed 
sufficient  capital  he  would  have  immediately  started  his 
tunnel  to  cut  the  lode  exactly  where  he  had  made  his  sur 
vey.  But  when  a  bore  is  proposed  to  penetrate  at  least 
twelve  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  of  solid  granite,  with 
no  prospect  of  pay  ore  until  the  objective  lode  is  cut,  it  is 
a  proposition  which  calls  for  the  expenditure  of  several 
thousand  dollars.  And  altho  it  was  decidedly  the  most 
feasible  and  economical  plan  for  the  scientific  develop 
ment  of  the  mine,  yet  with  Peter's  slender  capital  it  was 
impossible.  He  was  forced  to  follow,  therefore,  the  only 
plan  possible  under  the  circumstances,  and  that  wTas  to 
start  a  shaft,  sinking  it  upon  the  vein  where  it  lay  exposed 
on  the  ledge  of  rock  fully  two  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  creek.  Peter  hoped,  however,  that  the  ores 
thus  raised  from  the  shaft  would  bring  him  sufficient  re 
turns  to  eventually  put  the  tunnel  thru  to  the  lode; 
the  tunnel  itself  being  started  by  him,  in  performance  of 
the  assessment  work  which  was  required  by  the  United 
States  Government  to  hold  the  tunnel  site,  annually  to 
the  amount  of  $100.00,  but  the  few  feet  that  would  be  thus 
made  each  year  would  be  but  a  mere  scratch  in  the  side 
of  the  Emerald. 

The  Browns  had  built  their  cabin  near  the  mouth  of 
the  tunnel,  at  which  point  was  a  broad  shelf  or  terrace 
upon  the  side  of  the  mountain,  some  five  hundred  feet 
above  the  creek.  At  the  mouth  of  the  shaft,  fully  fifteen 
hundred  feet  above  the  cabin,  they  erected  a  commodious 
shaft-house,  and  furnished  it  with  bunks,  cooking  utensils, 
etc.,  and  they  also  built  a  -tool  house  and  equipped  it  with 
forge  and  anvil,  which  were  necessary  for  sharpening  the 
drills. 

For  over  a  year  the  Browns  steadily  sank  the  shaft,  and 
kept  up  the  assessment  work  on  the  tunnel  site.  In  that 
time  they  produced  some  very  good  ore  and  in  consider- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  13 

able  quantities;  but  the  actual  cost  of  mining  the  ore 
itself,  the  labor  required  to  get  the  ore  down  to  the  rail 
road  station  for  shipment,  the  railroad  haul  to  Denver, 
the  cost  of  smelting,  and  the  actual  theft  of  the  smelters,  so 
notorious  at  that  time,  all  conspired  to  produce  a  very 
small  net  return  to  Brown  and  his  son  for  their  arduous 
toil.  However,  they  made  some  headway,  and  Peter  soon 
had  a  generous  bank  account  in  Denver  at  a  depository 
recommended  by  the  Colonel. 

As  they  started  into  the  second  year  of  the  development 
of  the  mine,  the  long  anticipated  evil  befell  them  which 
had  proved  so  costly  to  the  Pay  Rock.  In  'the  spring, 
great  quantities  of  water  flowed  into  the  shaft  from  the 
upper  regions  of  the  Emerald,  and  at  last  they  gave  up 
the  work  as  a  task  impossible  to  continue,  unless  a  pump 
was  installed  to  keep  the  workings  clear  from  the  crystal 
flood. 

Peter  gave  the  matter  his  most  serious  thought.  He 
went  over  his  resources  carefully,  and  concluded  that  he 
would  s-take  his  all  on  the  tunnel  project,  and  abandon  the 
shaft  completely.  With  the  same  amount  of  money  which 
would  be  required  to  install  a  pumping  plant  to  keep  the 
shaft  free  of  water,  he  figured  that  he  could  push  the  tun 
nel  several  hundred  feet;  and  with  the  advice  of  the  Col 
onel,  he  began  that  task,  which,  however  arduous,  would 
eventually  be  the  salvation  of  the  property,  for  with  the 
tunnel  completed,  it  would  be  far  easier  to  produce  many 
tons  of  ore,  therefrom,  than  to  obtain  one  ton  from  the  now 
badly  flooded  shaft. 

By  this  time  Standish  had  become  quite  an  expert 
miner,  and  Peter  figured  that,  with  no  ill  luck,  they  could 
prosecute  the  tunnel  at  an  average  of  forty  feet  per  month. 

Thus  the  two  Browns,  with  all  the  fever  and  vigor  which 
only  mining  the  precious  stuff  itself  can  produce,  kept  up 
the  constant  drill  and  blast  within  the  tunnel,  month 
after  month,  for  over  two  years,  until  the  tape  measured 
an  even  thousand  feet  from  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  to 
the  breast.  Peter  could  not  handle  the  drills  himself, 
incapacitated  as  he  was  by  his  rheumatism  and  wounds, 
but  he  contented  himself  by  putting  the  rock  dropped  by 


14          THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

the  blast  into  the  one  tiny  ore  car  in  their  possession,  and 
hauling  it  thru  the  tunnel  down  the  little  track  and 
dumping  it  into  the  gulch.  He  also  cooked  most  of  the 
meals,  kept  the  house,  sharpened  the  drills,  and  looked 
after  the  supply  of  food  and  dynamite;  while  Standish, 
tall  and  sinewy  as  a  young  ash,  attacked  unrelentingly  the 
granite  breast  of  the  40  Rounds  with  hammer  and  drill, 
exploding  the  remorseless  dynamite  and  advancing  nearer 
and  nearer  the  vast  heart  of  the  Emerald  with  every  bite 
of  the  conquering  blast. 

When  they  unloosed  the  tape  again,  it  reached  the 
twelve-hundred-foot  mark.  They  were  within  twenty-five 
feet  of  the  lode.  Peter  had  never  for  a  moment  doubted 
but  that  the  lode  would  be  cut  and  exposed  at  that  dis 
tance.  But  he  was  getting  desperately  anxious,  however, 
as  his  ready  funds  were  almost  exhausted,  while  his  credit 
with  the  storekeepers  of  Plume  had  long  since  been 
stretched  to  the  breaking  point.  He  had  enough  money 
left  to  run  the  last  twenty-five  feet,  but  not  a  cent  more. 
That  distance  was  soon  accomplished,  but  with  no  indica 
tion  of  the  lode.  This  considerably  daunted  the  old  sol 
dier,  but  he  could  not  doubt  that  the  lode  was  hidden 
from  them  by  only  a  few  more  feet.  He  therefore  applied 
to  Howard  &  Co.,  keepers  of  a  general  store  in  Plume,  for 
a  las-t  month's  credit  of  provisions  and  dynamite,  he  hav 
ing  hardly  dared  to  look  at  the  total  of  the  bill  he  owed 
them  for  the  past  three  months. 

Howard  thought  the  matter  over  carefully.  The  busted 
miner  was  a  common  thing  for  him  to  encounter,  and  as 
they  were  more  often  the  victims  of  drink  than  ill  luck, 
they  usually  could  obtain  no  credit  with  him  save  in  a 
very  limited  way ;  but  he  knew  the  old  soldier  received  a 
small  pension  from  the  government,  that  he  had  a  son 
capable  of  working  at  almost  anything,  and  that  both  of 
them  wrere  of  the  utmost  integrity  of  character ;  and  lastly, 
we  must  give  him  the  credit  for  saying  to  himself,  "  Pete 
Brown  has  been  a  good  customer  of  ours  for  years,  and  I 
would  just  as  soon  as  not  lose  the  amount  in  remembrance 
of  his  good  pay  of  past  times." 

And  so  the  Browns,  as  at  the  beginning  of  this  narra- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE  15 

live,  having  exhausted  this  last  month's  supply  of  pro 
visions,  were  also  awaiting  the  discharge  of  their  last  stick 
of  "giant." 

A  muffled  roar  was  soon  heard.  A  sharp  puff  of  air  rat 
tled  the  half  open  door  of  the  tunnel.  The  blast  was  over. 

Had  it  reached  the  lode? 

By  almost  superhuman  efforts  Standish  had  penetrated 
nearly  fifty-two  feet  of  solid  granite  in  this  last  month,  in 
addition  to  which  the  holes  just  discharged  would  add  at 
least  two  feet  to  the  total,  the  lode  having  dipped  or  varied 
from  its  course  just  that  amount,  in  its  fifteen-hundred- 
foot  fall  from  the  outcropping  far  above,  provided,  of 
course,  that  this  last  shot  had  exposed  its  precious  riches. 

The  entrance  of  the  two  Browns  into  the  tunnel  of  the 
40  Rounds  a  half  hour  later  was  almost  tragic.  Without 
means,  almost  without  food,  their  credit  exhausted,  their 
physical  and  mental  forces  terribly  depleted,  these  two 
heroes  had  fought  the  solid  rock  for  nearly  five  years,  and 
unless  this  last  shot  was  victorious,  they  were  defeated 
and  prisoners  of  want. 

Standish  lighted  a  candle  and  pressed  eagerly  forward. 
There  was  a  girl  in  Plume  who  was  to  be  his  if  the  precious 
lode  of  the  40  Rounds  had  been  struck.  Every  hole  and 
every  shot  for  the  past  six  months  had  been  driven  and 
fired  in  her  name.  He  had  not  feared  want.  Necessities 
are  few  in  the  light  of  youthful  love,  and  so  he  pressed 
forward  in  the  joy  of  love  and  hope,  with  his  eyes  un- 
dimmed  by  the  still  escaping  smoke,  and  his  lungs  un- 
choked  by  the  foul  fumes  of  the  blast. 

But  Peter,  the  father,  moved  feebly.  He  realized  that 
only  a  miracle  could  have  exposed  the  coveted  ore  in  this 
last  shot.  An  old  veteran  is  not  led  by  the  light  of  Hope. 
The  grim  old  warrior  has  little  faith  in  the  chance  shot. 
He  follows  no  false  will-o'-the-wisp,  but  instead  he  faces 
the  battle  line  with  firm,  grim  stoicism.  And  as  Peter 
walked  forward  by  the  dim  light  of  his  candle,  he  was 
feebly  thinking  of  what  his  next  move  would  be  in  this 
tremendous  baffling  enterprise,  and  preparing  his  despair 
ing  gray  eyes  to  view  the  disheartening  spectacle  of  the 
still  grayer  unyielding  granite  breast  of  the  40  Rounds. 


16          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

But  he  did  not  realize  that  he  would  witness  another  spec 
tacle  which  would  arouse  in  him  such  an  anguish  that  the 
sight  of  the  unconquered  rock  could  not,  and  which  would 
completely  subdue  his  undaunted  heart  and  melt  his  grim 
stoicism  into  a  fountain  of  tears. 

When  Standish  reached  the  breast  of  the  tunnel,  he 
thrust  the  candle  anxiously  into  the  gray  depths  of  the 
jagged  seams  made  by  the  blast,  his  eyes  searching  eagerly 
for  the  gleam,  or  supposed  gleam,  of  the  long-battled-for 
quartz. 

But  in  vain.  The  terrible  mountain  laughed  and 
sneered  at  him. 

He  placed  the  candle  on  the  floor,  and  despairingly 
seizing  a  pick,  he  stripped  the  breast  of  the  tunnel  to  the 
smoothness  of  a  stone  wall.  But  all  was  granite — solid, 
gray,  cold,  pitiless,  unyielding  granite.  He  struck  the 
-wall  a  final,  despairing  blow,  causing  the  sparks  to  fly  in 
showers.  The  mighty  force  of  the  blow  had  broken  the 
point  of  the  pick.  That  breast  of  rock  was  harder  than 
the  steel  which  struck  it.  The  blow  echoed  dully  in  the 
depths  of  the  mountain,  and  with  a  groan  of  grief  and 
despair,  the  strong  youth  who  struck  it  fell  upon  the  heap 
of  rocky  debris  and  wept  like  a  child. 

As  he  fell  the  draught  put  out  the  flame  of  the  candle. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Peter  appeared,  groping  his 
way  feebly  forward  with  his  dim  eyes,  and  stumbling  over 
the  pile  of  rock  upon  which  lay  his  unhappy  son. 

"My  poor  tired  boy,"  he  cried  brokenly,  knowing  that 
the  worst  had  come,  and  that  the  last  shot  had  exposed 
nothing  but  a  barren  wall. 

The  candle  fell  from  his  hand  extinguished,  and  falling 
upon  his  rheumatic  old  knees  regardless  of  the  cruel, 
jagged  granite  cutting  into  his  flesh,  he  clasped  his  son  in 
his  arms,  and  together  father  and  son  wept  there  in  the 
darkness,  and  only  the  vast  stony  heart  of  the  Emerald 
knew. 

Peter,  the  father,  emerged  from  the  tunnel  of  the  40 
Rounds  a  poor  man  again.  Poor  in  pocket,  poor  in  hope. 
When  he  returned  to  the  cabin  he  found  that  Poverty  had 
entered,  and  was  again  his  unwelcome  guest.  Many  times 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  17 

before  she  had  visited  him,  and  he  recognized  her  in 
stantly.  They  silently  exchanged  greetings,  and  once 
more  the  wolf  slept  beside  the  cabin  door. 

Standish,  the  son,  emerged  from  the  tunnel  a  desper 
ately  whipped  man.  The  mountain  had  broken  his  heart. 
It  was  his  first  great  defeat  in  life.  He  was  still  bleeding 
from  the  cuts  of  the  sharp  rocks  which  had  pillowed  his 
head.  Nature  had  set  him  a  terrible  pace.  Her  solid 
granite  had  beaten  his  strong  arm,  charged  as  it  was  with 
dynamite  and  drill.  He  did  not  observe  Poverty  as  his 
father  did  when  he  entered  the  cabin.  He  observed  an 
other  figure,  however,  but  it  was  not  that  of  Poverty. 
Long  years  afterward  he  could  have  named  it. 

It  was  FATE. 


BOOK    TWO 

THE  NEST  THAT  SHAKES  IN  THE  WIND 

THE  Browns  began  their  modest  supper  in  silence. 
The  tears  to  which  they  had  succumbed  in  the 
mine  had  partially  washed  away  the  acuteness  of 
their  disappointment,  and  their  despair  was  succeeded  by 
hard,  practical  thought.  In  times  past  they  had  vaguely 
discussed  a  plan  of  action  in  case  their  funds  should  be 
come  exhausted  before  they  cut  the  lode.  Such  a  contin 
gency  had  seemed  so  improbable,  however,  that  it  had 
been  a  mere  dip  of  anticipation;  but  now  that  such  a 
situation  actually  faced  them,  they  were  both  thinking 
out  a  solution  of  the  problem.  Standish  broke  the  silence. 

"  Father,  I  guess  I  had  better  go  down  to  Denver  and 
have  Colonel  Rose  help  me  to  get  a  job ;  six  months  work 
at  fair  wages  will  pay  our  debts,  give  us  a  grub  stake,  and 
giant  enough  to  cut  another  hundred  feet  into  the  hill. 
Surely  we  must  be  close  to  the  lode.  Don't  you  think  so, 
daddy?"  he  said,  looking  appealingly  into  the  brave  sen 
sitive  face  of  his  father. 

The  old  veteran  sighed  heavily  as  he  replied,  "  Son,  I'd 
stake  my  life  that  we  are  within  twenty-five  feet  of  it.  I 
suppose  I  could  borrow  some  money  from  the  Colonel,  but 
perhaps  it's  better  for  us  to  earn  it,  independence  is  so 
sweet.  I  really  think  tho,  son,  that  a  little  change  will 
do  us  both  good,  especially  yourself.  You're  all  I've  got, 
and  if  it  wasn't  for  your  bravery  and  strength,  old  Peter 
Brown  would  have  been  done  for  long  ago.  But  never 
mind,  sonny,  when  we  do  strike  that  tarnel  stubborn 
streak  of  ore,  you  shall  have  it  all — gold,  power,  riches, 
and — and  a  hair  cut,"  he  added  smilingly,  as  he  noticed 
almost  for  the  first  time,  the  long  unshorn  locks  which 
clustered  about  the  ears  of  his  son. 

"My  little  pension,  and  what  few  dollars  I  can  make 

19 


20  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

fiddling  for  the  boys  down  in  Plume,  will  keep  me  going 
O.  K. ;  and  if  everything  else  goes  all  right,  we'll  hit 
the  old  40  Rounds  such  a  whack  six  months  from  now, 
as  will  carry  us  thru  to  pay  ore  in  a  jiffy.  Work  is  scarce 
up  here  at  Plume  I  hear,  but  I  know  the  Colonel  can 
get  you  work  in  Denver,  and  I  guess  it's  the  move  to 
make." 

They  cleared  the  table  and  washed  the  dishes,  and  as  the 
father  busied  himself  in  making  up  the  beds  and  attend 
ing  to  several  other  little  neglected  duties  of  their  quar 
ters,  Standish  brushed  himself  up  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
halting  at  the  door  he  said,  "  I  won't  be  gone  long,  father, 
I'm  just  going  to  drop  in  on  Mollie  for  a  few  minutes," 
and  opening  the  door  he  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

He  passed  down  the  trail,  crossed  the  railroad  tracks 
near  the  little  station,  and  walking  up  the  principal  street 
of  Plume  he  paused  before  the  largest  edifice  of  the  vil 
lage. 

It  was  a  low  two-storied  frame  structure  with  a  veranda 
built  along  the  entire  street  front.  A  rude  sign  painted  in 
black  and  white,  and  fastened  clumsily  to  the  roof  of  the 
veranda  with  two  strips  of  pine,  indicated  that  this  par 
ticular  edifice  was  "The  New  Windsor  Hotel."  It  was 
the  only  place  in  the  village  which  aspired  to  the  dignity 
of  a  public  hostelry,  and  altho  the  word  "new"  affixed  to 
an  old  hotel  sign,  is  perhaps  an  indication  that  the  hos 
telry  thus  identified  has  recently  changed  ownership  and 
undergone  a  renovation;  yet  it  nevertheless  gives  to  the 
veteran  traveler  a  decided  chill,  quite  similar  to  that  ex 
perienced  when  one  is  introduced  to  a  strange  man,  with 
the  whispered  admonition,  "that  he  has  just  buried  his 
third  wife." 

The  proprietor  of  the  New  Windsor  at  this  time  was 
Mrs.  Mary  Rogan,  an  Irish  widow  of  fifty-five  summers. 
She  had  arrived  in  Plume  one  day  from  Denver,  the  guest 
of  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.,  an  official  of  that  road  having  inter 
ested  her  in  the  leasing  of  the  Windsor  Hotel  then  vacant, 
had  also  issued  her  a  round  trip  pass  so  that  she  could  ex 
amine  the  proposition  in  person  and  without  expense. 
The  widow  had  gone  over  the  property  carefully,  and  re- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  21 

turning  to  Denver  where  she  further  consulted  the  owner, 
the  deal  finally  resulted  in  Plume  numbering  among  its 
growing  population,  the  widow  Rogan  and  her  handsome 
young  daughter,  Mollie. 

The  steady  boarders  of  the  New  Windsor  were  the  train 
men  of  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.,  and  several  engineers  and 
mining  men  from  the  nearby  mines.  While  an  occasional 
traveling  salesman,  and  parties  of  visiting  stockholders 
of  the  numerous  mining  concerns  of  the  region,  together 
with  considerable  numbers  of  tourists  in  the  summer  sea 
son,  all  contributed  to  the  maintenance  of  this  mountain 
hostelry. 

The  widow's  daughter,  a  young  woman  of  eighteen,  had 
secured  the  position  of  teacher  in  the  one  tiny  school 
which  the  village  supported;  and  she  also  assisted  in  no 
small  way,  thru  the  medium  of  her  comely  attractions, 
in  filling  the  tables  of  the  New  Windsor  with  gallant  and 
admiring  gentlemen  from  the  entire  camp. 

Standish  entered  the  hotel  office,  which  was  filled  with 
the  crew  of  the  evening  passenger  train  from  Denver,  who 
sat  smoking  and  hugging  the  bright  coal  fire  and  ex 
changing  the  gossip  of  their  day's  run,  and  opening  the 
door  into  the  cold,  narrow  hallway,  and  climbing  the 
steep  flight  of  creaky  stairs  which  led  to  the  second  floor, 
he  paused  at  the  head  of  the  open  doorway  of  the  parlor, 
which  was  furnished  with  the  personal  effects  of  the 
widow  herself. 

It  contained  an  organ  of  uncertain  age,  a  black  walnut 
stand  with  a  white  embroidered  cover,  upon  which  rested 
a  massive  family  Bible  and  a  sadly  soiled  cream  and  gold 
plush  bound  photograph  album,  containing  the  pictorial 
necrology  of  at  least  three  generations  of  the  Rogans  and 
the  O'Briens,  the  latter  name  being  the  maiden  name  of 
the  widow.  A  small  stool  beside  the  organ  was  the  re 
pository  for  several  ancient  hymn  books,  and  sheets  of 
vocal  and  instrumental  music  of  a  much  later  date,  evi 
dently  the  property  of  Mollie.  Several  cheap  wooden 
chairs,  a  large  well  battered  up  lounge  upholstered  in 
faded  red  plush  and  delightfully  odoriferous  from  untold 
years  of  buckwheat  cakes  and  other  kitchen  fragrances, 


22          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

and  an  old  fashioned  hair  sofa,  a  relic  of  first  married 
years,  filled  the  various  corners  of  the  New  Windsor 
parlor. 

Upon  the  parlor  walls  were  several  frames,  among  them 
being  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  pictorial  form;  while  another 
contained  a  desperately  melodramatic  poem  printed  in 
'black  and  gilt,  describing  a  fearful  mine  disaster  which 
several  years  before  had  brought  death  and  suffering  to 
several  families  in  Plume. 

Upon  a  badly  fly-specked  wooden  stretcher  nearby,  was 
a  canvas  upon  which  was  painted  a  view  of  Grays  Peak  as 
viewed  from  the  valley  of  Clear  Creek.  It  looked  more 
like  an  ant-hill  in  distress,  but  if  one  were  wise,  he  would 
accept  the  widow's  glowing  description  of  this  gem  of  art, 
with  a  gravely  composed  countenance,  and  several  well 
placed  "ahs." 

Another  interesting  subject  upon  the  parlor  wall,  was 
a  steel  engraving  of  the  Washington  family.  Two  or 
three  yellow  streaks  across  the  once  white  mat  of  this 
picture,  indicated  to  the  careful  observer;  that  the  illus 
trious  George  and  Martha,  together  with  their  little  flock, 
had  nearly  perished  in  some  tenement  fire.  Several  tell 
tale  watermarks  upon  the  same  mat  and  numerous  blisters 
on  the  varnish  of  the  frame,  revealing  very  plainly,  that 
just  as  the  flames  had  reached  the  frame,  the  firemen  had 
succeeded  in  drenching  the  walls  upon  which  the  frame  was 
resting.  As  the  widow  had  lived  in  Chicago  during  the 
Great  Fire,  one  might  be  justified  in  assuming  that  this 
dramatic  incident  in  the  later  history  of  the  Washington 
family,  had  occurred  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Great  Lakes. 

A  small  chamber  opening  from  the  parlor  thus  de 
scribed,  was  the  abode  of  Mollie  Rogan.  Standish  looked 
inquiringly  in  its  direction,  and  seeing  a  light  thru  the 
half  opened  door  he  advanced  into  the  parlor  to  see  if 
Mistress  Mollie  was  at  home,  she  had  heard  his  step,  how 
ever,  and  met  him  half  way  in  the  parlor. 

The  tread  of  a  heavy  man  upon  the  stairs  of  the  New 
Windsor  shook  the  hostelry  to  its  very  foundations. 
During  a  winter  storm,  the  snow,  whipped  by  a  stiff  wind, 
was  driven  thru  the  thin  sides  of  the  hotel  as  thru  a 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          23 

sieve,  covering  the  beds  on  the  windward  side  upstairs 
with  deep  glistening  ripples  of  the  "beautiful,"  which  the 
regular  guests  upon  retiring,  philosophically  shook  off 
on  the  floor. 

And,  oh !  The  wind !  With  every  gust  of  the  fierce  win 
ter  gale  or  the  softer  breeze  of  summer,  the  hotel  sjiook 
and  weaved  like  an  oriole's  nest  suspended  from  a  wind- 
rocked  tree. 

During  a  severe  storm  the  previous  winter,  the  hotel  was 
nearly  blown  into  the  creek  which  flowed  swiftly  a  few 
yards  distant.  And  the  widow,  nearly  frightened  out  of 
her  wits  and  having  loudly  protested  with  the  owner  in 
Denver,  a  carpenter  had  been  engaged  to  brace  the  corners 
of  the  building  with  some  heavy  posts,  anchoring  them  to 
several  beams  sunk  deep  in  the  ground.  Since  then  the 
widow  had  felt  safer;  as  for  the  hotel,  it  still  shook  vio 
lently  in  the  wind  and  pulled  madly  at  its  fastenings, 
much  like  a  ship  in  a  harbor  pulling  fiercely  at  its  anchor 
during  a  heavy  gale. 

At  regular  intervals,  and  with  almost  the  exact  regu 
larity  of  an  ocean  fog-horn  shrieking  its  hoarse  warning 
to  vessels  in  the  fog,  occurred  the  hideous  brayings  of  sev 
eral  Rocky  Mountain  jackasses.  The  long  eared  singers 
in  a  stable  two  doors  to  the  west  of  the  hotel,  singing 
yearningly  to  the  canary  toned  divas  of  another  stable 
four  doors  to  the  east  of  the  hotel,  who  returned  the  soul 
ful  salutations  of  their  neighbors  with  an  impassioned 
fervor  which  brooked  no  superiority  either  in  volume  or 
in  tone.  Thus  these  mountain  birds  sang  to  each  other 
day  and  night,  even  on  Sunday  and  Decoration  Day.  And 
just  as  often  as  their  melodious  "onk-ke-onks"  and  grave 
crescendo  "hee-haws"  were  emitted,  the  tender  heart-melt 
ing  vibrations  entered  into  shingles,  weather  boarding, 
rafters,  and  in  fact  into  the  entire  structure  of  the  New 
Windsor,  softly  imparting  their  rich  sonorous  strains  into 
the  ears  of  the  guests;  it  having  been  estimated  by  par 
ticularly  favored  guests  of  this  famous  Colorado  hostelry, 
that  about  thirty  minutes  of  this  soul-agonizing  chorus, 
would  put  the  most  earnest  Chinese  funeral  to  shame. 

When  the  hotel  did  not  shake  in  the  wind,  it  shook  in 


24          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  bray  of  the  jackasses.  And  when  both  these  forces 
swooped  down  upon  the  devoted  edifice  at  once,  the  un 
initiated  guests  were  sometimes  distracted  enough  to  call 
for  life-presenters,  thinking  that  the  old  ship  would  surely 
sink. 

Mollie  ushered  Standish  into  her  little  room  off  the 
parlor  and  seated  him  beside  a  tiny  stove,  which  was 
usually  piping  hot  to  stave  off  the  cold  air  of  the  moun 
tain  nights  as  it  leaked  thru  the  innumerable  chinks  and 
crevices  of  the  hotel.  Widow  Rogan  had  almost  denied 
her  daughter  the  extravagance  of  this  room,  but  had 
finally  been  persuaded  that  Mollie  should  be  allowed  the 
privilege  of  a  room  all  to  herself,  especially  as  the  parlor 
was  open  to  the  guests  at  all  times;  both  mother  and 
daughter  sleeping  in  another  room  across  the  hall  from 
the  parlor. 

Mollie's  trim  individuality  reigned  supreme  in  this  tiny 
chamber.  In  addition  to  the  stove,  the  room  was  fur 
nished  with  a  small  table  with  an  elaborately  embroidered 
cover,  upon  which  stood  a  reading  lamp  with  a  red  paper 
shade ;  while  a  couple  of  old  wooden  chairs  neatly  covered 
with  a  red  and  white  fabric  to  conceal  the  battered  up 
wood,  constituted  the  balance  of  the  room's  modest  fur 
nishings.  In  one  corner  was  a  large  stack  of  Harper's 
Bazaars,  of  which  Mollie  was  a  regular  subscriber,  and 
upon  the  walls  were  many  double  page  pictures  cut  from 
the  same  magazine,  also  an  old  daguerreotype  of  her 
father  and  mother  taken  many  years  before  in  Chicago. 

Now  Mistress  Mollie  had  decided  upon  one  thing  that 
very  afternoon,  which  was  that  a  young  lady  who  was 
engaged  to  be  married  as  she  was,  should  have  a  ring,  and 
she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  ask  Standish  for  one  that 
very  evening. 

A  young  woman  who  is  engaged  must  have  a  ring. 

Such  has  been  the  custom  of  centuries  of  love  making. 
To  millions  of  the  tender  sex  it  has  brought  untold  de 
light,  whether  it  be  the  plain  silver  band  offering  of  the 
humblest  peasant,  or  the  magnificent  solitaire  of  the  mil 
lionaire,  it  carries  into  a  maiden's  heart  a  world  of  senti 
ment. 


•      THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          25 

To  those  women  who  are  bound  in  marriage,  its  magic 
power  oft  prevents  the  quarrel.  There  are  some  women 
who  scorn  the  weak  and  guilty  husband,  and  turn  him 
away  with  a  cold  heart;  but  when  they  pluck  off  the  ring 
which  has  adorned  their  finger,  perhaps  for  many  years, 
they  weep.  The  former  object  of  their  affection  has  proved 
himself  vile,  yet  the  sight  of  the  ring  brings  back  the  time 
when  he  was  pure  and  love  beat  high.  These  women  can 
forgive. 

There  are  some  women  who  have  plucked  off  the  ring 
fiercely  in  the  heat  of  the  quarrel,  but  as  the  husband  ad 
vanced  protestingly  to  take  it  back,  they  have  thrown 
their  arms  lovingly  about  him ;  and  in  that  embrace,  both 
husband  and  wife  promised  each  other  better  things,  and 
the  ring  shone  all  the  brighter  thruout  the  remaining 
years. 

There  are  a  few  women,  who  engaged  but  not  married, 
have  returned  the  ring  coldly,  without  sentiment,  with 
out  regard,  to  look  for  another  ring,  another  foolish 
giver. 

There  are  still  a  fewer  number  of  women,  who  have 
been  known  to  give  the  cold  dismissal  but  not  the  ring. 
In  the  eyes  of  such  women,  a  ring  has  intrinsic  value. 

Mollie  belonged  to  the  true  class  of  women.  She  wanted 
a  ring  upon  her  finger,  to  treasure  her  lover  within  her 
heart.  Its  close  presence  would  remind  her  of  him  when 
he  was  away  at  his  work,  and  it  would  always  be  a  solemn, 
sacred  token  of  their  engagement,  to  remind  her  of  his 
constancy  when  her  own  heart  was  weak,  and  to  inform 
the  world  that  her  person  was  sacred  and  inviolate  in  the 
promised  bonds  of  matrimony. 

Their  conversation  had  drifted  on  in  the  little  chit-chat 
way  of  lovers,  and  as  Standish  rose  to  bid  her  good-bye, 
she  crept  up  into  his  arms  and  whispered  her  request  in 
that  confident  petulant  manner  of  a  woman  who  rules 
the  object  of  her  desires. 

Standish  was  half  prepared  for  her  request.  He  was 
fully  conscious  that  it  was  the  customary  thing  to  do,  but 
in  the  fearful  clutch  of  his  poverty  he  had  long  evaded  the 
issue,  especially  as  he  had  anticipated  the  striking  of  the 


26          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

rich  lode  of  the  40  Rounds,  and  then  the  ring  should  be 
a  magnificent  diamond. 

"Certainly,  darling,"  he  replied  confusedly  to  her  re 
quest;  and  as  an  apology  for  not  having  done  so  before, 
he  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  Denver  to  buy  her  a  dia 
mond.  Standish  did  not  see  her  happy  smile  in  the  dim 
light  as  he  told  her  this,  but  he  felt  the  tightening  clasp 
of  her  arms,  and  with  a  fond  kiss  she  released  him,  and 
he  passed  thru  the  parlor  and  out  into  the  hall  shaking  the 
whole  house  with  his  heavy  tread. 

As  he  passed  out  into  the  night  filled  with  the  joy  of 
her  embrace,  he  looked  up  at  the  starry  sky  with  its  mil 
lions  of  glittering  jewels,  and  he  wished  that  one  of  them 
might  drop  at  his  feet  set  in  a  golden  band.  But  further 
on  as  he  climbed  the  steep  trail,  Poverty  clutched  him  by 
the  throat,  the  joy  was  rudely  swept  from  his  heart,  the 
unyielding  granite  breast  of  the  40  Rounds  stared  him 
mockingly  in  the  face;  and  there,  under  those  same  glit 
tering  orbs,  realizing  his  helpless,  moneyless  condition, 
he  wept.  When  he  looked  up  at  them  again  thru  his  tears, 
they  appeared  no  longer  as  bright  jewels  set  in  a  beautiful 
sky,  but  rather  as  cold  distant  planets. 

Approaching  the  cabin,  he  heard  the  familiar  tones  of 
his  father's  violin.  He  stood  near  the  window  and  lis 
tened,  the  notes  seeming  to  soothe  him. 

"  Dear  old  dad,"  he  murmured,  as  the  sweet  notes  filled 
to  overflowing  their  little  weather-beaten  shack.  It  was 
an  old,  old  ballad  that  dad  was  playing.  Standish  remem 
bered,  that  long  ago  he  had  heard  his  mother  sing  the 
same  sweet,  tender  words.  Yes,  the  old  man  was  humming 
them  even  now: 

"  I  cannot  sing  the  old  songs, 

For  mem'ries  come  again, 
Of  golden  dreams  departed, 
And  years  of  weary  pain. 

Perhaps  when  earthly  fetters, 

Shall  set  my  spirit  free, 
My  voice  shall  sing  the  old  songs, 

Thru  all  eternity." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          27 

The  sweet  strains  of  the  violin  softly  followed  the  husky 
old  voice.  The  notes  which  the  wavering  voice  could  not 
carry,  the  instrument  did.  And  perhaps  it  was  not  that 
the  voice  was  cracked  and  husky,  but  rather  that  the  old 
man's  heart  strings  hushed  the  tender  notes  and  claimed 
their  own. 

Soon  the  sweet  strains  ceased,  but  Standish  did  not 
hurry,  for  he  felt  that  this  was  dad's  hour,  and  that  the 
depths  of  his  tender  revery  was  too  sacred,  even  for  the 
presence  of  a  son. 

In  the  domain  of  Spirit,  Poverty  is  unknown. 

Broken  old  Peter  Brown  sat  there  in  his  humble  cabin, 
poor  in  purse,  but  royally  rich  in  the  flow  of  memories. 

As  Standish  seated  himself  upon  the  washstand  outside 
the  cabin  door  and  waited,  he  thought  that  perhaps  the 
ring  would  be  bought  in  some  manner  after  all,  but  he 
did  most  emphatically  know,  that  he  was  dreadfully  tired 
and  sleepy;  and  stamping  his  feet  heavily,  so  that  his 
father  might  know  he  was  coming,  he  raised  the  latch 
and  entered. 

Peter  was  putting  the  violin  and  bow  in  their  case. 
Looking  up  cheerily  he  said,  "Well,  son,  got  home  so 
soon,"  and  placing  the  case  upon  the  shelf  and  handling 
it  as  thp  it  were  a  thing  of  love,  he  lighted  his  pipe  and 
looked  into  the  fire. 


* 


BOOK  THREE 

THE  INVASION  OF  POLISH 

THE  train  which  Standish  took  for  Denver  passed 
the  up-bound  train  at  the  Forks  of  the  Creek.  Upon 
that  train  was  a  person  who  was  experiencing  for 
the  first  time  the  glorious  inspiration  of  the  Rockies. 

Theodore  Dodge,  the  person  in  question,  was  a  polished 
young  man  of  symmetrical  'build,  medium  height,  full 
chested  and  shapely  limbed  as  a  young  Greek;  and  with 
magnetic  merry  black  eyes,  brownish  hair  and  rosy  cheeks, 
he  made  a  rare  picture  of  perfect  and  graceful  young  man 
hood.  He  came  from  Ohio,  where  his  parents,  who  were 
well-to-do  farmers,  had  provided  liberally  for  his  educa 
tion  ;  and  now,  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  had  just  gradu 
ated  from  college,  flattering  himself  that  he  was  a  full- 
fledged  engineer  and  mining  expert. 

The  handsome  youth  undoubtedly  did  possess  a  superb 
book  education,  but  he  was  certainly  sadly  lacking  in  that 
greater  education  of  actual  contact  with  that  subject  mat 
ter  upon  which  he  had  so  assiduously  informed  himself 
from  his  books. 

Mines  and  mining  existed  for  him  only  in  thought.  He 
felt  that  he  knew  them  thoroly  in  theory,  but  he  was 
soon  to  see  them  materialize  into  those  cold,  hard  facts, 
which,  somehow,  seem  in  actual  experience  to  differentiate 
so  curiously  from  the  substance  of  mere  printed  pages. 

The  president  of  the  college  which  Theodore  had  at 
tended  had  warmly  interested  himself  in  the  bright  young 
collegian,  and  when  Theodore  had  finished  the  course 
and  obtained  his  degree,  the  president  had  secured  for 
him  the  promise  of  a  position  from  an  old  friend  of  his 
who  was  at  that  time  a  resident  of  Denver. 

Theodore,  thereupon,  had  come  immediately  to  the 
mountain  metropolis,  and  presented  his  letter  to  the  gen- 

29 


30          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

tleman  addressed,  who  proved  to  be  a  wholesale  merchant 
of  the  city,  Mr.  Thomas  Bayard.  The  merchant  had 
scrutinized  the  young  man  very  closely  with  his  shrewd 
gray  eyes,  and  had  stated  a  time  for  the  youth  to  call  upon 
him  again.  At  this  point  in  our  narrative  it  becomes  nec 
essary  to  digress  briefly  to  relate  the  circumstances  of 
Thomas  Bayard's  first  venture  in  mining. 

Is  there  an  old  resident  of  Colorado  who  has  not  at  some 
time  or  another  been  the  possessor  of  mining  stock?  If  a 
man  really  does  escape  the  tempting  invitation  of  the 
Great  Hills,  in  itself  a  severe  test  of  his  conservatism,  or 
resists  investing  a  little  wad  in  the  "  U-O-ME,"  or  sinking 
a  small  bunch  in  the  "  Gay  Red  Elephant,"  and  by  this 
act  of  rare  abstinence  eliciting  from  his  weaker  or  more 
reckless  friends  the  credit  of  steering  clear  of  the  seething 
maelstrom  of  Western  mine  speculation,  he  is  almost  sure, 
sooner  or  later,  to  have  some  of  the  flimsy  stuff  forced 
on  him  as  collateral  by  some  unfortunate  acquaintance. 
So  that,  sane  or  insane,  drunk  or  sober,  wise  or  foolish, 
the  Coloradoan  of  long  standing  is  in  a  fair  way  to  become 
the  possessor  of  some  of  that  most  questionable,  tho  often 
surprisingly  valuable,  commodity  in  the  whirlpool  of 
American  speculation — a  bunch  of  mining  stock. 

Immediately  adjoining  the  extensive  properties  of  the 
Pay  Rock  in  Plume  was  a  large  property  known  as  the 
Sampson-Smith.  Sampson  had  originally  owned  one 
claim,  Smith  the  other.  And  the  two  properties  thus 
immediately  adjoining  each  other  were  so  situated,  by 
reason  of  the  peculiar  slope  of  the  mountain,  that  the  lode, 
which  was  the  main  or  "mother"  lode  of  the  district, 
could  only  be  reached  by  means  of  a  deep  shaft.  Neither 
Sampson  or  Smith  had  the  means  to  sink  a  shaft  as  deep 
as  was  required  to  reach  the  lode,  especially  when  there 
was  the  possibility  of  the  vein  dipping  or  turning  off  in 
some  unknown  direction. 

It  was  several  hundred  feet  from  the  shaft-house  of  the 
Pay  Rock  to  the  nearest  lines  of  the  Sampson  and  Smith 
properties,  and  altho  it  was  conceded  by  mining  ex 
perts  that  the  vein  was  probably  there,  the  two  claim  hold 
ers  had  no  actual  outcroppings  of  the  vein  upon  the  sur- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          31 

face  of  their  properties  to  more  definitely  determine  their 
operations,  tinder  these  circumstances,  Sampson  agreed 
with  Smith  to  sink  a  shaft  on  the  supposed  boundary  line 
between  the  two  properties.  This  would  enable  them  to 
work  both  properties  thru  a  single  shaft,  the  expense  of 
which  was  quite  within  their  united  means. 

They  sank  the  shaft,  they  struck  the  lode,  and  each  of 
them  produced  some  good  ore.  Then  they  fell  out,  Smith 
having  discovered  by  means  of  a  new  survey  that  the  shaft 
was  wholly  on  his  property  instead  of  being  upon  the 
boundary  line,  and  he  chose  to  make  demands  upon  Samp 
son  accordingly. 

Then  Sampson  secured  an  injunction  to  prevent  Smith 
from  confiscating  the  shaft,  and  thus  their  slender  fortunes 
soon  melted  in  attorneys'  fees.  Next,  the  different  attor 
neys  interested  put  attachments  on  the  properties  in  order 
to  secure  their  fees.  Then  Sampson,  who  was  a  widower, 
died,  leaving  several  minor  heirs  in  the  East  to  inherit  his 
interest  in  the  property.  Smith  still  lived  on,  however, 
but  he  could  not  shake  off  the  clutch  of  the  lawyers. 

A  long  time  then  elapsed,  during  which  the  claims  were 
jumped  by  new  parties,  neither  of  the  claims  having  been 
patented,  and  the  annual  assessment  required  on  them  by 
the  government  having  not  been  kept  up  in  the  interval. 
Smith  was  now  at  his  wit's  end,  and  all  of  the  parties  in 
terested  were  forced  to  get  together  to  fight  the  jumpers; 
all  of  which  circumstances  having  gone  to  make  up  what 
is  familiarly  known  in  mining  circles  as  litigation ;  and  lit 
igation  is  the  dread  vampire  of  mining  on  the  Great 
Divide.  For  there  are  today  scores  of  rich  and  valuable 
mining  properties  in  Colorado  that  are  hopelessly  involved 
and  wholly  unproductive  solely  because  of  a  vast  tangle  of 
litigation. 

Now,  Bayard,  in  the  course  of  his  mercantile  business, 
had  been  forced  to  levy  a  claim  upon  the  Smith  property, 
by  reason  of  his  being  a  heavy  creditor  of  Smith's.  So, 
getting  in  touch  with  other  business  men  having  similar 
claims,  he  called  a  meeting  of  the  attorneys  interested  in 
both  properties,  the  various  heirs  of  Sampson,  the  well 
beaten  Smith,  and  all  other  parties,  having  claims  against 


32          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  properties.  At  this  and  several  subsequent  meetings 
the  diplomatic  merchant  succeeded  in  securing  the  agree 
ment  of  all  parties  to  the  following  arrangement : 

First,  to  present  a  united  front  and  make  terms  with 
the  jumpers.  Second,  to  permanently  merge  the  two  prop 
erties  and  organize  a  stock  company,  issuing  stock  to  all 
parties  interested  according  to  the  justice  and  value  of 
their  claims.  And  third,  to  hold  the  balance  of  the  stock 
in  the  treasury,  to  be  sold  as  occasion  required,  to  raise 
funds  for  the  development  of  the  long  idle  properties, 
which  were  truly  of  great  value.  The  natural  outcome  of 
the  whole  affair  was  the  complete  restoration  of  harmony 
between  all  parties,  the  satisfaction  and  peaceful  exit  of 
the  jumpers,  and  the  permanent  organization  of  the 
Sampson-Smith  corporation  with  Thomas  Bayard  as  its 
president  and  treasurer. 

With  this  accomplished,  it  was  naturally  up  to  Bayard 
to  put  the  property  on  its  old-time  paying  basis,  and  to 
do  this  he  must  have  a  competent  manager.  Thru  long 
experience  in  the  course  of  his  mercantile  business,  he 
was  quite  wary  of  that  portion  of  the  mining  fraternity  of 
the  West,  who,  professing  to  be  expert  managers,  really 
allowed  a  mine  to  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  as  long  as  they 
could  sit  at  a  gambling  table  and  puff  choice  cigars.  As  a 
shrewd  business  man,  Bayard  wanted  to  develop  the  Samp 
son-Smith  as  quickly  and  economically  as  possible,  for  he 
believed  it  to  be  a  great  property. 

Upon  receipt,  therefore,  of  his  friend's  letter,  in  which 
Theodore  was  so  warmly  recommended,  Bayard  decided 
that  if  on  mere  personal  contact  the  young  man  impressed 
him  favorably,  he  would  prefer  him  to  the  risk  and  exces 
sive  expense  of  a  certified  and  duly  proven  mining  expert, 
promising  himself  that  if  the  youth  really  made  good  to 
increase  his  salary  from  time  to  time  as  he  proved  worthy, 
to  the  full  pay  of  an  expert.  And  later,  when  he  came  in 
personal  contact  with  the  bright  young  fellow,  he  felt  that 
he  instantly  recognized  a  personality  imbued  with  rare 
intelligence,  capability  and  loyalty.  It  was  enough.  Here 
was  a  fellow  who,  under  proper  guidance  and  encourage 
ment,  would  work  with  energy  and  skill,  and  above  all, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          33 

obtain  results.  So  after  a  few  preliminaries,  in  which 
Bayard  advised  the  young  engineer  to  look  up  the  former 
workmen  of  the  properties  and  to  hold  himself  quite  open, 
considering  his  lack  of  experience,  to  the  suggestions 
which  they  might  make  as  to  the  development  of  the  prop 
erty,  the  merchant  closed  a  contract  with  the  youth,  giving 
him  carte  blanche  to  manage  the  property  and  bring  it  to 
a  state  of  full  and  steady  production. 

"  Young  man,  do  your  best.  Never  let  up  until  you 
have  ore  on  the  dump,  and  are  shipping  every  day," 
was  Bayard's  parting  injunction,  as  Theodore  left  the  office 
to  take  the  train  for  Plume. 

This,  then,  was  the  worthy,  who,  passing  Standish  at 
the  Forks  of  the  Creek  on  his  way  to  Denver,  was  destined 
to  play  no  small  part  in  that  party's  future  career. 

Arriving  at  Plume,  Theodore  naturally  sought  the  com 
forts  of  the  New  Windsor.  He  was  very  warmly  welcomed 
by  the  business  and  laboring  men  of  the  village,  as  his  ap 
pearance  meant  that  another  active  producer  would  soon 
be  added  to  the  district,  with  the  consequent  disbursement 
of  thousands  of  dollars  each  month  among  the  citizens  of 
Plume. 

For  several  weeks  Theodore  and  his  men  toiled  day  and 
night  upon  the  abandoned  shaft  and  workings  of  the 
Sampson-Smith,  which  had  long  since  been  almost  wholly 
submerged,  and  the  pumping  plant  greatly  damaged  by 
water  and  rust.  And  in  his  strenuous  labors  upon  this 
property,  the  young  collegian  developed  many  of  those 
qualities  which  later  in  life  established  him  as  an  engi 
neer  and  mining  expert  of  national  repute. 

Within  three  months  from  the  date  of  his  arrival  Theo 
dore  and  his  men  had  ore  on  the  Sampson-Smith  dump, 
and  from  that  time  and  for  several  succeeding  years  there 
were  always  ore  cars  at  the  C.  C.  &  U.  siding  at  the  mine, 
loaded  with  Sampson-Smith  ore  consigned  to  the  smelters 
in  Denver. 

Mrs.  Rogan  was  more  than  delighted  with  her  hand 
some  young  guest,  and  had  the  walls  of  a  sunny  east  room 
covered  with  a  double  thickness  of  wall  paper  in  order  to 


34          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

partially  conceal  the  glaring  defects  of  the  New  Windsor's 
primitive  architecture. 

Theodore  soon  became  popular  with  the  C.  C.  &  U. 
train  men  and  the  balance  of  the  hotel  boarders,  especially 
the  mining  fraternity,  who  found  in  him  very  congenial 
and  intelligent  company. 

Mistress  Mollie  fought  very  shy  of  him  for  a  long  time 
after  his  arrival.  Letters  came  regularly  from  Standish, 
and  the  girl's  heart  was  true ;  but  a  person  as  highly  mag 
netic  and  attractive  as  Theodore  was  could  not  help  but 
deeply  impress  this  mountain  belle.  In  course  of  time 
she  could  distinguish  his  quick  step  sounding  on  the  thin 
floor  of  the  veranda,  and  so  acute  is  woman's  instinct  of 
the  differentiations  of  the  opposite  sex  that  it  was  not  long 
until  she  could  distinguish  it  wherever  it  sounded  in  the 
shaking  structure  of  the  house  itself.  Finally  the  keen 
psychic  sense  of  this  pretty  Irish  lass  could  detect  Theo 
dore's  magnetic  personality  in  the  very  atmosphere  of  the 
hotel,  so  pronounced  at  times  that  it  would  fairly  discon 
cert  her,  and  she  would  flee  the  house  in  an  effort  to  regain 
her  composure.  Ah!  Supreme,  imperious  Nature.  To 
vindicate  your  immutable  laws  of  sex  attraction,  you  would 
bring  a  woman  from  Alaska  and  a  man  from  Patagonia, 
to  meet  and  wed  in  Panama. 

After  many  conscientious  interviews  with  herself,  in 
which  she  could  not  help  but  recognize  the  young  engi 
neer's  growing  importance  in  the  community,  she  deter 
mined  that  she  had  best  meet  the  issue  bravely  by  estab 
lishing  an  honest  open  friendship  with  this  handsome 
down-easter,  and  not  endure  the  silent  torture  of  an  un- 
expressible  emotion  which  racked  her  soul  in  his  near 
presence. 

And  so  it  began.  When  an  impressionable  young 
woman  takes  up  a  friendship  with  as  magnetic  and 
charming  a  young  man  as  Theodore  Dodge,  it  is  but  a 
short  flight  to  something  more  serious. 

She  soon  found  herself  constantly  comparing  him  with 
Standish.  The  contrast  was  indeed  striking.  The  tall, 
angular  form  of  the  latter  did  not  compare  favorably,  in 
her  eyes  at  least,  with  the  supple,  graceful  figure  of  the 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  35 

young  mine  superintendent.  The  hesitating,  drawling 
speech  of  Standish,  whose  features  were  often  convulsed 
by  a  distressing  twitching  caused  by  the  tiny  muscles  of 
his  face  vainly  endeavoring  to  follow  his  swifter  thought, 
did  not  compare  well  with  Theodore's  bright  face  and 
quick,  expressive  speech  and  extensive  vocabulary. 

Standish  was  a  great,  rough,  plain-clothes  man.  Theo 
dore  was  as  neat  as  a  polished  silk  hat  stowed  snugly  away 
in  a  smart  leather  box.  His  air  and  manner  displayed  all 
the  polished  refinement  and  culture  of  a  well-bred  college 
man.  And  then  the  money  end  of  it.  Standish  always  so 
poor,  self-denying,  poverty  stricken.  She  constantly 
thought  of  his  promise  to  send  her  the  ring.  When  would 
he  deign  to  send  it?  Ah !  Standish,  you  must  hurry.  The 
time  to  give  a  lady  a  ring  is  when  she  has  once  accepted 
you  gloriously  into'  her  heart.  Indeed,  the  ring  is  often 
the  key  that  locks  your  love  in  her  heart.  If  you  do  not 
get  that  key  and  lock  it  safely  within,  the  door  is  liable 
to  spring  open  and  your  love  fly  away. 

But  Theodore,  good,  generous  boy  that  he  was,  the 
smoke  from  his  fragrant  cigars  as  he  and  the  train  men 
puffed  them  in  the  office  Sunday  mornings  smelled  de- 
liciously  thru  the  rough  floor  of  her  room,  which  was 
directly  above  the  hotel  office.  And  Mollie,  as  most 
women  also  confess  they  do,  rather  liked  the  smell  of  a 
good  cigar;  but  Standish — he  was  so  puritanical.  He  did 
not  smoke  nor  indulge  in  intoxicants,  even  ever  so  little 
for  company's  sake,  nor  even  swear.  But  he  was  good, 
and  as  generous  perhaps  as  he  could  afford  to  be.  She 
remembered  the  books  he  had  given  her  and  the  nice 
birthday  present  he  had  given  her  mother.  Really  these 
comparisons  did  not  leave  him  in  such  a  bad  light  after 
all.  But  just  now  he  was  so  far  away  and  Theodore  so 
near.  And  then  —  always  that  long  promised  and  never 
materializing  ring. 

The  next  phenomenon  of  this  maiden's  thought  was  her 
struggle  with  that  still  unsolved  mystery  —  a  woman's 
curiosity.  "  Who  were  Theodore's  parents?  What  was 
his  salary?  What  books  did  he  read?  Do  you  suppose 


36          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

he  has  a  sweetheart  down  East?  Is  she  a  blonde  or 
brunette?  Where  did  he  meet  her?" 

Quite  unknown  to  her  mother  she  often  visited  his  room 
•while  he  was  at  the  mine ;  and  boldly  searching  his  letters, 
looking  thru  his  books  and  examining  his  collection  of 
photographs,  only  served  her  intense  feminine  curiosity 
to  that  end,  that  her  secret  and  most  reprehensible  investi 
gations  soon  carried  her  up  to  the  man  himself. 

We  must,  however,  give  Mollie  full  credit  for  not  trying 
to  make  a  bold  conquest  of  Theodore,  either  as  a  friend  or 
as  a  lover.  She  was,  in  the  beginning,  honestly  desirous 
of  establishing  a  straightforward  friendship  with  him,  the 
same  as  she  had  long  maintained  with  all  the  other  young 
men  of  the  village.  But  in  this  case,  having  entered  the 
lists  with  a  most  irresistible  personality,  it  was  as  impos 
sible  for  her  to  separate  friendship  from  downright  love  as 
it  is  to  distinguish  the  emotion  of  a  caress  from  that  of  a 
kiss. 

As  for  Theodore  he  was  perfectly  heart-free.  Life  was 
monotonous  in  Plume.  He  frankly  confessed  that  he 
liked  the  girl  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  her,  and  he 
felt  his  heart  reaching  out  to  her  from  the  beginning. 
He  could  not  help  it.  When  a  man  possesses  a  great 
warm  heart,  he  naturally  possesses  a  great  love.  This 
love  reaches  out  for  the  things  it  desires  as  naturally  and 
passionately  as  the  tendrils  of  a  vine  reach  upward  toward 
the  golden  sun;  as  the  swift  bird  leaps  exultant  into  the 
blue  heavens;  as  the  soul  forever  seeks  its  affinity,  Theo 
dore's  love  responded  to  Mollie's  attractions  as  sponta 
neously  as  the  morning-glory  opens  up  its  petals  to  the 
first  beam  of  the  rising  sun. 

All  things  that  are  perfect  are  spontaneous.  In  the 
great  chronicles  of  man's  existence,  History  and  Art,  the 
things  that  he  admires  most  are  those  which  sprang 
up  free,  at-the-instant-gushing-forth ;  leaping  gloriously, 
spontaneously,  without  conscious  effort,  from  out  the  cru 
cible  of  Existence. 

Creation  itself  gushes  forth  spontaneous  out  of  the  vast 
fount  of  Nature;  and  what  is  so  perfect  as  that  which 
perfectly  imitates  Nature. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  37 

At  the  command  of  God  the  World  sprang  forth  from 
Chaos  perfect.  Perfect  to  that  life  which  was  created  then. 
Perfect  now  to  that  soul  which  comprehends  its  noble 
unity. 

Thus  Mollie's  brave  little  friendship  fluttered  a  brief 
instant  on  the  ways  of  her  conscience,  and  then  slipped 
without  a  ripple  into  that  warm,  passionate  ocean  of  love, 
whose  surging  tides  beat  fiercely  within  the  portals  of  her 
heart. 

It  was  Thanksgiving  Day  that  the  final  consummation 
came.  In  the  evening  a  big  dance  was  to  be  given  in  the 
great  ore  mill  of  the  Pay  Rock,  and  Mollie  had  accepted 
Theodore's  invitation  to  attend. 

She  had  taken  the  huge  Bible  from  off  the  parlor  stand 
for  sufficient  space  to  write  a  letter.  She  mused  long  over 
the  epistle,  several  times  rising  to  her  feet  and  walking 
back  and  forth  in  an  endeavor  to  solve  what  to  her  was  a 
problem.  The  truth  was,  however,  that  there  was  no 
problem.  It  had  been  solved  for  some  time.  She  loved 
Theodore  Dodge,  she  had  ceased  to  love  Standish  Brown. 

Altho  her  heart  sheltered  the  new  love,  and  had  wholly 
driven  out  the  old,  yet  her  conscience  stoutly  defended  the 
old.  And  now  her  guilty  little  heart  was  struggling  to 
force  her  conscience  to  boldly  release  her  old  lover.  This 
done,  all  bonds  between  Standish  and  her  would  be  sev 
ered. 

She  felt  intuitively  that  the  letter  must  be  written  and 
posted  immediately  in  the  thought  that  something  embar 
rassing  might  happen  that  very  night  if  she  did  not,  and 
her  conscience  did  not  propose  to  be  compromised. 

After  many  pauses,  certain  knittings  of  her  white  brow 
and  determined  compressions  of  her  dimpled  mouth,  the 
letter  was  finally  finished.  She  read  it  over  for  the  last 
time,  folded  it,  placed  it  in  an  envelope,  and  addressed  it 
to  "  Mr.  Standish  Brown,  Denver,  Colo.  Care  of  Colonel 
Charles  Rose."  Then  going  to  her  mother's  room  and 
obtaining  a  postage  stamp,  she  affixed  it  to  the  envelope, 
and  throwing  a  shawl  about  her  shoulders,  she  passed  up 
the  street  to  the  postoffice. 

Slip  went  the  envelope   into  the   outgoing  mail-box. 


38  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Mollie's  form  stiffened  visibly  as  the  missive  left  her 
grasp.  She  felt  almost  as  if  she  had  lost  a  part  of  herself, 
and  her  bosom  heaved  with  deep  emotion.  Conscience 
wished  that  she  had  not  sent  it,  but  her  heart  told  her  it 
was  well.  She  stood  for  a  moment  gasping  in  her  ex 
treme  trepidation,  and  then  passed  out.  On  her  way 
home,  however,  she  had  recovered  herself  sufficiently  to 
think  rapturously  of  the  dance  that  evening,  and  by  the 
time  she  reached  the  parlor  again  and  replaced  the  Bible 
on  the  stand,  her  face  was  radiant.  The  letter  she  had 
written  and  posted  had  set  her  free. 

They  went  to  the  dance  that  night  in  a  stylish  sleigh 
drawn  by  a  fleet  black  roadster.  The  air  was  stinging  cold. 
They  had  two  miles  to  go  and  they  fairly  flew.  The 
vast  silent  crags  of  the  mountains  towered  dizzily  above 
them,  and  the  stars  seemed  to  almost  spit  and  crackle, 
emitting  vivid  electric  sparks  of  dazzling  green  and  yel 
low.  The  merry  jingle  of  the  sleigh-bells,  the  sharp  beat 
of  the  horse's  hoofs  upon  the  icy  roadbed,  and  the 
"crunch-crunch"  of  the  sleigh  runners  over  the  frozen 
snow,  were  the  only  sounds  to  be  heard,  save  the  low  rush 
of  the  creek  down  the  gulch,  and  their  young,  free  hearts 
beat  high  in  the  gay  anticipation  of  the  evening's  pleasure. 

The  ball  proved  to  be  a  grand  success.  It  was  given  for 
the  benefit  of  the  Plume  Volunteer  Fire  Department,  the 
proceeds  to  be  applied  to  the  purchase  of  a  hose-cart,  house 
and  fittings  for  the  protection  of  the  village's  several  score 
of  wooden  store  buildings  and  dwellings.  The  village 
already  possessed  an  excellent  water  supply,  piped  from  a 
large  reservoir  a  mile  up  the  gulch.  There  were  also  a 
sufficient  number  of  fire-plugs  in  the  town,  but  a  cart  and 
hose  were  needed  to  carry  the  water  from  the  fire-plugs 
to  the  scene  of  any  conflagration  which  might  visit  the 
community. 

The  management  of  the  dance  had  cleared  the  floor  of 
the  big  ore  mill  of  all  fixtures  and  machinery  possible.  The 
rafters  were  decorated  with  fragrant  pine  boughs  and 
strings  of  alternated  red  cranberries  and  white  popped 
corn ;  and  the  music  stand  was  decorated  with  red,  white 
and  blue  bunting,  the  orchestra  consisting  of  a  first  and 
second  violin,  a  bass  viol  and  a  flute. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  39 

Old  Peter  Brown  played  the  first  violin  and  was  the 
caller.  He  looked  dreamily  at  the  fast  gathering  throng 
of  merry  dancers  as  he  tuned  his  fiddle.  It  reminded  him 
of  old  times  in  Iowa,  and  his  eyes  moistened  visibly  in 
the  retrospection.  Several  of  the  married  ladies  had 
brought  their  children,  and  the  little  ones,  gathered  in 
front  of  the  music  stand,  were  listening  delightedly  to  the 
sharp  "plunk-plunk"  of  the  violins  and  the  soft  tremolo 
of  the  flute,  as  the  musicians  tuned  them  from  time  to 
time.  The  gentlemen  outnumbered  the  ladies  at  least 
five  to  one,  and  it  seemed  as  if  every  lady,  young  or  old, 
was  fairly  smothered  with  attention. 

Mollie  certainly  looked  beautiful  that  evening,  and  was 
the  undisputed  queen  of  the  ball.  Of  a  neat,  plump  figure 
and  a  well-rounded  bust,  her  luxuriant  locks  of  wavy  hair, 
black  and  glossy  as  a  crow's  wing,  were  gathered  up  in  a 
shining  mass  set  high  on  her  shapely  head,  contrasting 
handsomely  with  her  clear  white  brows,  dimpling  rosy 
cheeks,  and  the  sparkling  animation  of  a  pair  of  bright 
Irish  blue  eyes  constantly  flashing  the  eloquence  of  her 
keen  enjoyment. 

They  danced  far  into  the  night.  Old  Peter's  voice  was 
getting  noticeably  husky  from  the  calling,  and  the  ever 
resourceful  Theodore,  with  Mollie  on  his  arm,  slipped  up 
to  the  old  veteran  and  offered  him  a  bottle.  Peter  peered 
slyly  down  at  Mollie  and  said,  "  Well,  as  long  as  my  boy 
ain't  here,  little  one,  I  guess  I'll  take  a  bit  of  this  snake 
bite." 

Mollie  laughed,  but  she  did  not  allude  to  Standish. 
After  passing  the  bottle  to  his  fellow  musicians,  Peter  re 
turned  it  to  Theodore  with  his  thanks,  and  soon  the  old 
veteran's  voice  rang  out  again  to  the  merry  throng. 

"Away  there,  now,  gents.  Get  your  partners  for  the 
Munnie  Musk."  And  as  Peter  played  on  thru  the  long 
night,  each  bar  of  his  music  carried  Mollie,  his  son's 
promised  bride,  farther  and  farther  into  the  arms  and 
affections  of  Theodore  Dodge. 

Mollie  had  never  known  such  happiness  before.  As 
she  and  Theodore  glided  about  the  big  mill  in  the  dreamy 
rhythm  of  the  waltz,  their  feet,  hearts  and  souls  beat  in 


40          THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

perfect  unison.  During  the  brief  intervals  in  which 
Theodore  left  her  side  to  smoke  and  chat  with  the  men, 
she  contrasted  his  sparkling  face  and  easy  manners  with 
the  awkward  speech  and  slouching  gait  of  her  former 
lover.  Indeed,  she  several  times  wondered  in  the  midst 
of  her  gay  exhilaration  of  how  she  had  ever  been  able  to 
tolerate  the  rough,  unpolished  manners  of  Standish  so 
long. 

"  But  there  must  have  been  something  about  him  that 
was  attractive,"  she  mused. 

Yes,  there  undoubtedly  was,  Mollie.  Beneath  that  rough 
and  awkward  exterior  there  was  a  noble  soul,  but  it  would 
take  the  stern  touch  of  the  grim  fighting  years  for  the 
greater  inner  man  to  break  thru  the  thick  crust  of  the 
outer  man,  to  at  last  reveal  the  true  virtue  within. 

When  Theodore  parted  from  Mollie  that  night  in  the 
little  parlor  of  the  New  Windsor  he  kissed  her.  That  kiss 
sealed  their  love  for  all  time.  And  that  same  night,  as  she 
slept  and  dreamed,  the  form  of  her  old  lover  appeared 
within  the  theater  of  her  soul.  She  faced  him  fearlessly, 
she  motioned  him  to  depart.  Her  finger  was  steady,  her 
arm  rigid,  her  figure  commanding;  and  slowly  the  tall, 
gaunt  form  dissolved  and  vanished  from  her  view.  Con 
science  had  thus  given  her  the  license  and  the  authority. 
Only  eight  hours  before  she  had  received  Theodore's  first 
kiss  she  had  mailed  the  letter  which  had  set  her  free.  Her 
honor  and  her  conscience  were  therefore  inviolate. 


BOOK  FOUR 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  EMERALD 


CHAPTER  I 

STANDISH  had  been  in  Denver  six  months.  He  was 
successful  in  securing  work  from  the  very  start, 
Colonel  Rose  having  employed  him  as  a  watchman 
to  protect  the  warehouse  of  the  Western  Provision  Co., 
a  large  wholesale  house  which  handled  a  general  line  of 
provisions,  such  as  were  in  demand  in  the  West  at  that 
time.  Colonel  was  the  president  of  the  concern,  and  it 
did  a  large  business. 

Standish  was  required  to  watch  the  warehouse  at  night, 
sweep  and  dust  the  office  and  its  fixtures,  and  work  upon 
such  accounts  as  might  be  given  him  by  the  foreman.  The 
work  was  comparatively  light,  the  pay  good ;  and  in  spite 
of  the  difficulties  of  sleeping  in  the  day  time  in  a  town 
where  the  cracking  of  the  pistols  and  the  whoop  of  the 
cowboys  were  still  of  occasional  occurrence,  Standish  en 
joyed  the  long  nights  and  made  good  use  of  his  time. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  enumerate  the  books  he  read 
during  his  spare  hours.  As  with  nearly  all  young  men, 
he  chose  the  works  of  battle,  love  making,  and  of  travel. 
In  this  latter  form  of  literature  he  fairly  reveled,  hav 
ing  access  to  the  generous  sized  library  of  the  Colonel. 

The  Colonel  had  treated  him  with  the  utmost  consid 
eration.  He  was  pleased  to  note  that  his  protege  was 
careful  and  proficient  in  the  execution  of  all  the  duties 
required  of  him,  and  a  son  could  scarcely  have  received 
more  attention  than  was  shown  him  by  this  old  friend 
of  his  father's. 

He  was  also  often  invited  to  dinner  by  Mrs.  Rose,  but 
rarely  did  he  accept.  He  felt  awkward  and  out  of  place, 
and  indeed  the  temperament  of  this  young  mountaineer 

41 


42          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

leaned  decidedly  toward  the  company  of  self.  He  had 
even  then  begun  to  realize  the  company  of  Mind,  and  his 
brain  fairly  seethed  with  those  flying  thoughts,  which 
seek  to  fill  that  mental  vacuum  where  only  harum-scarum 
spirits  of  youth  have  reigned  before. 

The  six  months  had  passed  swiftly.  Spring  and  sum 
mer  had  flown.  The  snow  was  again  visible  on  the  foot 
hills,  for  upon  the  main  range  it  lies  eternal,  and  the 
beautiful  autumn  was  being  gradually  pinched  to  the 
gauntness  of  winter. 

Standish  had  made  the  first  rounds  of  the  warehouse, 
cleaned  the  office,  and  as  the  last  sheet  of  the  account  was 
checked  which  the  foreman  had  handed  him  that  eve 
ning,  he  put  it  away  in  its  receptacle  and  seated  him 
self  near  the  fire. 

Presently  he  unbuckled  his  money  belt,  w;hich  he  wore 
around  his  waist  between  his  outside  and  his  undershirt; 
and  shaking  it  gently  and  pushing  it  carefully  with  his 
fingers,  he  pulled  from  it  a  small  wisp  of  cotton.  It  con 
tained  the  ring. 

Every  month  he  had  remitted  the  larger  share  of  his 
salary  to  his  father,  but  he  had  always  retained  a  portion, 
saved  from  his  personal  expense  money  with  extreme 
self-denial,  with  which  to  buy  the  ring. 

He  had  first  seen  it  in  a  jeweler's  window.  It  was  a 
beautiful  tho  small  diamond  solitare,  neatly  set  in  an 
elegant  gold  band.  For  two  months  he  had  feasted  his 
his  eyes  upon  it,  without  daring  to  ask  the  price.  But 
the  third  month,  however,  he  took  courage  as  he  felt  the 
edges  of  several  gold  pieces  in  his  belt,  and  entering  the 
store  he  anxiously  inquired  the  price.  His  countenance 
fell  as  the  clerk  told  him.  Then  it  rose  again,  as  he  fig 
ured  that  in  three  more  months  he  could  buy  it. 

"  Don't — don't  sell  it,"  he  said  appealingly  to  the  clerk, 
"in  three  months  I  will  come  again  and  get  it." 

And  as  he  passed  out  with  his  heavy  lumbering  tread 
and  awkward  slouch,  the  old  clerk  smiled  to  himself 
and  wondered  what  that  young  giant  could  want  with 
that  kind  of  a  ring.  Sometimes  the  cowboys  purchased 
rings,  thru  which  they  tied  their  gaudy  cravats,  but  they 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          43 

were  generally  satisfied  with  a  plain  gold  or  silver  band 
ring. 

The  old  clerk,  who  was  a  German  Jew,  ejaculated  as  he 
watched  the  retreating  form  of  Standish,  "Mein  Gott! 
Vere  am  I?  Ach!  Yes!  I  vas  out  Vest!"  as  tho  that  was 
a  sufficient  explanation  for  anything  strange  or  out  of 
the  ordinary. 

At  the  end  of  the  appointed  time  Standish  appeared 
punctually  as  he  had  said.  The  old  clerk  recognized  him 
instantly,  and  the  ring  was  purchased.  The  beaming- 
clerk  offered  to  put  it  in  a  neat  velvet  box,  but  Stan- 
dish  declined;  and  wrapping  it  in  a  piece  of  cotton,  he 
had  thus  tucked  the  precious  trinket  safely  into  his  belt. 
And  as  he  sat  there  by  the  fire  that  night,  and  turned 
the  sparkling  jewel  in  the  light  of  the  gas-jet,  a  beautiful 
Play  was  enacted  in  his  soul.  He  was  enraptured  with 
its  scenes,  was  lost  in  its  inimitable  art,  and  unconsciously 
applauding  the  actors,  he  saw  the  last  curtain  drop  with 
keen  regret. 

He  did  not  at  this  time  realize  the  rare  phenomenon 
of  this  Play,  or  give  its  wonders  the  slightest  analysis. 
In  later  years,  however,  when  he  had  come  to  a  full  real 
ization  of  its  marvels,  he  invariably  removed  his  hat  upon 
his  entrance  to  the  foyer,  and  carefully  filed  the  programs 
for  future  reference. 

The  Play  this  particular  night,  was  centered  about  a 
beautiful  woman,  Mollie.  The  only  other  characters  in  the 
Play  were  himself  and  several  cherubs  of  children,  and  a 
happy  grandfather,  Peter.  They  all  lived  together  in 
a  magnificently  furnished  home  and  all  was  love  and 
perfect  happiness. 

Then  he  turned  from  the  Play  to  the  glittering  dia 
mond,  and  fondly  soliloquized,  "And  this  is  only  the  be 
ginning,  soon  we  will  strike  the  lode  in  the  40  Rounds, 
and  I  will  be  rich,  and  Mollie  will  be  my  wife." 

With  a  happy  sigh  he  returned  the  ring  to  the  belt, 
and  thrusting  his  hand  into  the  inside  pocket  of  his  coat 
he  pulled  out  two  letters.  One  was  from  his  father,  the 
other  from  Mollie.  Like  the  stern  self-denying  Puritan 


44          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

that  he  was,  he  tore  open  his  father's  letter  first,  reserving 
the  sweets  for  the  last. 

This  was  his  father's  letter: 

"  My  dear  son : 

"  Your  old  dad  is  enjoying  good  health  and  spirits  these  days, 
and  is  pleased  to  acknowledge  the  draft  of  $45.00  which  you  sent 
on  the  first  inst.  I  begin  to  feel  quite  encouraged  about  the 
mine  now.  Have  paid  up  the  store  folks,  and  all  our  indebtedness 
is  cleared  up.  Also  have  on  hand  a  total  of  $115.65  in  cash, 
which  is  the  basis  of  our  next  operations  in  the  mine. 

"  I  made  another  $5.00  playing  at  a  dance  last  night.  Most 
all  the  town  ladies  were  there,  including  Mollie.  She  is  stepping 
pretty  gay  with  that  young  mine  superintendent,  Dodge,  whom  I 
wrote  you  about  some  time  ago  as  being  in  charge  of  the  old 
Sampson-Smith.  Say,  but  you  ought  to  have  seen  those 
Plume  miners  hoof  it.  Almost  a  regular  stag  affair.  Will  prob 
ably  have  several  more  dances  this  winter  now  that  the  town's 
woke  up.  I'm  glad  of  it,  for  the  money  comes  easy,  and  will 
help  us  buy  more  powder  and  fuse  for  the  40  Rounds. 

"  Can't  you  try  and  come  up  for  a  couple  of  days?  It  won't 
cost  much,  and  your  old  daddy  is  getting  awful  anxious  to  see 
his  boy.  Your  affectionate  father, 

"  PETER  BROWN." 

Standish  slowly  refolded  the  letter  and  replaced  it 
in  its  envelope. 

"  So  Mollie  went  to  the  dance  with  that  young  Dodge," 
he  mused  doubtfully,  "But  pshaw,  she  ought  to  have  a 
little  pleasure." 

The  remark  was  hopefully  philosophical,  but  in  his 
heart  there  was  a  decidedly  queer  feeling. 

"  By  Jove !  I  really  had  ought  to  go  up  for  a  day  or 
two,"  he  continued,  as  he  placed  the  letter  in  his  pocket, 
"but  I  guess  it  would  be  fairer  to  have  dad  come  down 
here.  A  chat  with  the  Colonel  would  do  him  a  world 
of  good." 

Thus  this  puritanical  fellow  was  so  deadly  in  earnest 
with  everything  he  undertook,  that  the  bare  thought  of  a 
little  recreation  and  pleasure  for  himself,  was  treated  by 
him  as  little  short  of  a  crime.  Stoical,  persistent  adher 
ence  to  a  cherished  plan,  this  was  one  of  the  great  char- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          45 

acteristics  of  his  mentality,  and  no  doubt  his  long  years  of 
monotonous  unremunerative  labor  in  the  tunnel  of  the  40 
Rounds  had  largely  aided  in  fostering  it.  Sternly  serious 
he  was,  almost  to  the  point  of  ridicule.  A  sort  of  modern 
ized  John  Brown.  A  sheaf  of  hard  winter  wheat  in  which 
the  winnower  finds  no  chaff. 

He  then  proceeded  to  open  the  letter  from  Mollie.  It 
ran  as  follows: 

"  Mr.  Standish  Brown, 

"  Denver,  Colo. 

"  Dear  Sir :  Without  the  slightest  consideration  for  one  who 
has,  until  now,  fully  believed  in  your  love;  you  have  persisted  in 
making  your  absence  from  our  town,  and  from  my  presence  very 
noticeable. 

"  I  have  waited  in  vain  for  that  ring  which  you  were  going  to 
send  me.  I  believe  that  I  made  a  great  mistake  in  accepting  any 
attentions  from  you  whatever,  and  I  write  this  letter  to  inform 
you  that  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  our  engagement  is  entirely 
ended. 

"  If  you  have  any  use  for  the  few  trinkets  which  you  have 
presented  to  me  in  times  past,  I  will  be  pleased  to  send  them  to 
you  upon  your  request.  Respectfully, 

"  MOLLIE  KATHERINE  ROGAN." 

Standish  did  not  move  for  several  moments  after  the 
perusal  of  this  letter. 

"My  God!  It  can  not  be  true,"  he  cried  almost  in 
coherently  at  last.  "Where — where,  is  the  letter  she 
wrote  me  only  just  last  week,"  he  moaned;  and  pulling 
out  that  particular  letter  from  his  pocket  with  shaking 
fingers,  he  read  aloud  the  entire  epistle  which  he  had  re 
ceived  from  her  the  previous  week,  ending  with  the 
words,  "Your  loving  Mollie." 

"No!  No!  Its  some  darned  infamous  joke,"  he  cried; 
but  alas!  As  he  read  her  last  letter  over  and  over  again, 
he  recognized  the  well  known  chirography  of  Mollie  Ro- 
gan,  somewhat  stiffened  and  formal  to  be  sure,  but  never 
theless,  hers  beyond  dispute. 

"That's  it!  That's  it!  That  dance  which  father 
writes  about.  It's  that  darned  dance,"  he  moaned  wildly. 

Bowing  his  head,  he  slowly  pulled  the  ring  from  the 


46 

belt  again  and  turned  it  in  the  light  of  the  lamp.  It 
sparkled  brightly  as  ever,  its  beams  were  perfect.  Then 
his  trembling  hands  dropped,  the  trinket  fell  to  the  floor, 
and  slowly  succumbing  to  an  unutterable  grief,  the  youth's 
tall  form  shook  in  convulsive  sobs. 

A  few  evenings  after  this  incident,  as  he  was  going 
to  work,  he  met  the  brakeman  who  had  just  come  in  from 
his  day's  run  to  Plume  and  return. 

"Hello  there,  Standish,"  he  said,  as  they  shook  hands 
heartily.  "Two  feet  of  snow  on  the  level  at  Plume.  Live 
ly  camp  these  days.  Had  a  big  dance  there  last  Thurs 
day  night.  By  the  way,  your  old  girl  has  gone  and  done 
it.  She's  going  to  be  married  in  two  weeks.  Goes  back 
East  to  young  Dodge's  home  in  Ohio  for  the  wedding 
trip.  See !  Here's  a  bid  to  the  wedding.  Us  boys  is  goin' 
to  get  'em  a  fine  set  of  dishes.  Bully  girl,  Mollie,  and 
they  say  that  young  Dodge  is  way  up  in  his  business. 
Heard  they  were  going  to  bring  him  down  here  to  Denver 
for  a  better  job.  Great  things  these  college  fellers  fall 
into,  Standish.  Got  common  folks  like  you  and  me 
skinned  a  mile.  They  get  to  be  experts  in  some  line, 
and  the  next  thing  you  know  they're  the  whole  thing. 
Darned  if  I  ain't  thinking  of  taking  up  a  correspon 
dence  course  in  something  myself.  When  you  going  up 
to  Plume?  Saw  your  old  man  the  other  day.  Says  he's 
all  0.  K.,  and  that  you're  talking  about  working  on  the 
tunnel  again." 

Standish  listened  to  the  brakeman's  talk  like  one  in  a 
dream.  He  nodded,  smiled,  and  shook  his  head  like  an 
automaton,  and  gazed  intently  with  his  burning  eyes 
at  the  wedding  invitation  which  the  brakeman  handed 
him.  "Yesj  it  was  all  too  true.  Mollie  had  coldly  thrown 
him  over,  and  was  lost  to  him  forever." 

"  Well,  so  long,  Standish,  hope  to  see  you  when  you  go 
up  the  line,"  and  the  brakeman  passed  up  the  street 

On  his  way  to  his  lodgings  the  next  morning  Stan- 
dish  stepped  into  the  jeweler's  shot). 

"Say,  mister,  how  much  will  you  give  me  for  that 
ring  I  bought  here  a  few  days  ago?"  he  asked,  addressing 
the  old  clerk,  who  looked  up  at  him  in  mild  astonish- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  47 

meut,  and  who  instantly  replied  in  that  vein  of  well 
feigned  indifference  characteristic  of  his  tradesman  craft ; 

"I  doned  vant  it,  my  friend,  I  doned  vant  it."  At  the 
same  time  calculating  with  lightning  instinct  of  -what  a 
profit  he  could  make  on  such  a  transaction. 

Standish  started  away.  And  the  Jew  fearfully  fright 
ened  that  he  would  actually  get  away  without  further 
parley,  leaned  hastily  over  the  counter  and  said,  gesticu 
lating  in  characteristic  manner  with  both  hands. 

"  I  tell  you  vat  I  do.  I  gife  you  one  hundred  twendy 
fife  dollar,  und  call  it  done." 

As  he  had  originally  sold  the  ring  to  Standish  for 
$150.00,  his  offer  represented  a  clear  profit  to  himself 
and  a  corresponding  loss  to  Standish  of  $25.00. 

"  Here's  your  ring.  Give  me  the  money,"  replied 
Standish,  deliberately  pulling  open  his  money  belt.  "I 
thought  I  needed  it,  but  I  guess  I  can  do  without  it  now," 
he  added  half  apologetically. 

The  eager  clerk  examined  the  stone  with  the  eyes 
of  an  expert,  and  found  it  in  exactly  the  same  condition 
as  when  sold. 

"  I  vill  hafe  to  gife  you  a  check,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  it's  as  good  as  the  money,"  re 
plied  Standish. 

And  a  few  moments  later  as  his  customer  took  the  check 
and  passed  out  of  the  shop,  the  Jew  muttered  to  himself, 
"Eezy  monee."  And  rubbing  his  hands  together  and 
dancing  about  the  room  in  high  glee,  he  joyously  shouted, 
"Nextd." 

The  door  did  actually  fly  open,  but  it  was  not  the  store 
door.  It  was  only  the  door  of  the  cuckoo  clock  suddenly 
flying  open.  And  as  the  tiny  bird  like  a  figure  leaped 
out,  bowed  its  head,  spread  its  wings,  and  called  "cuckoo," 
once,  for  the  half  hour,  and  the  little  door  closed  again 
with  a  sharp  clap;  the  old  clerk  cried  out  with  a  gleeful 
laugh,  "Ha!  Ha!  Hal  He  vas  a  cuckoo,  ey?"  and  putting 
the  ring  back  in  the  window,  he  laughed  again. 

"Yah!  He!  He!  He!  He  vas  a  cuckoo,  doned  it!"  and 
the  incident  was  closed. 


CHAPTER  II 

At  the  breast  of  the  tunnel  of  the  40  Rounds,  the  figures 
of  two  men  could  be  distinguished  in  the  dim  candle 
light.  They  were  Peter  and  Standish  Brown. 

The  steady  "click-click"  of  the  hammer  as  it  fell  upon 
the  drill,  and  the  constant  "drip-drip"  of  the  water  from 
the  roof  of  the  tunnel  were  the  only  sounds;  the  men, 
silently  intent  upon  their  work,  did  not  converse. 

It  was  the  middle  of  January.  Peter  had  thawed  out 
the  dynamite  and  cut  the  fuses,  as  Standish  drove  the 
last  hole.  The  work  seemed  to  tire  Standish  quite  notice 
ably.  He  had  not  worked  at  any  severe  manual  labor 
since  he  left  Plume,  and  his  strokes  greatly  lacked  the 
fierce  energy  of  that  last  desperate  attack  upon  the  granite 
which  he  had  made  just  before  he  left  for  Denver.  There 
was  a  good  reason  for  this,  poor  fellow.  This  time  there 
was  no  longer  the  bright  eyes  or  love  of  sweet  Mollie 
Rogan  to  inspire  and  strengthen  his  arm. 

Out  dropped  the  drill  upon  the  rocky  floor  sending  a 
sharp  clang  echoing  dully  thru  the  long  dim  vault.  The 
last  hole  was  finished. 

Standish  dropped  wearily  upon  the  short  stool  to  get 
his  breath.  And  as  he  sat  there  a  moment  resting,  his 
father  took  up  the  candle  and  peered  with  keen  scrutiny 
into  the  five  deep  holes  vhich  his  son  had  just  drilled 
into  the  breast. 

"  Um,  it  seems  to  me,  son,  that  them  holes  is  leaking," 
he  said  in  a  deeply  significant  tone,  after  a  brief  exam 
ination. 

If  so,  it  undoubtedly  meant  that  they  had  struck  the 
lode.  For  a  vein  or  lode  in  a  mountain,  invariably  acts 
as  a  gutter  or  drain,  for  all  the  region  that  lies  above  it. 
The  water  naturally  following  the  fissure  of  the  vein, 
as  the  vein  is  composed  of  a  much  sqfter  substance  than 
the  solid  granite  of  the  mountain.  In  fact,  nearly  all  the 

49 


50          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

veins  of  the  Pay  Rock  district  were  filled  with  this  same 
talcous  substance,  which  nearly  as  soft  and  fine  grained 
as  common  chalk,  holds  the  ore  in  suspension  in  rich  glit 
tering  streaks.  Thus  water,  trickling  from  the  breast  of  a 
tunnel,  is  almost  a  sure  indication  of  the  wall  of  a  vein. 
As  the  vein  carrying  the  Avater,  is  simply  the  wedge-like 
filling  between  the  two  granite  walls  of  the  fissure,  con 
taining  and  enclosing  the  softer  vein,  exactly  as  lies  the 
soft  filling  between  the  harder  layers  of  the  baked  cake. 

It  was  quite  evident  that  the  old  veteran  was  getting 
excited. 

"  Gee-whil-e-kees,  sonny,  look  at  that,"  he  said,  point 
ing  to  several  drops  of  water  sparkling  in  one  of  the  holes 
as  the  light  of  the  candle  shone  in.  "Great  Jupiter!  I 
really  believe  its  the  lode." 

Standish  followed  the  drift  of  his  father's  reinarks, 
but  somehow  he  did  not  seem  to  enthuse  the  slightest. 
He  appeared  like  a  man  under  a  spell,  and  as  his  father 
charged  the  holes,  he  wearily  .tamped  them.  It  was  the 
first  work  in  the  tunnel  since  his  return  from  Denver. 

Carrying  the  tools  back  towards  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel  they  lighted  the  fuses,  and  emerged  once  more 
into  the  light  of  day  for  the  dynamite  to  do  its  work. 

They  did  not  tarry  long  outside,  for  instead  of  the 
bright  sunshine  of  the  morning,  a  fierce  storm  was  rag 
ing  on  the  Divide,  and  it  was  really  difficult  to  distin 
guish  their  cabin  close  by  thru  the  clouds  of  blinding 
snow.  There  are  no  windows  in  a  mine.  The  elements 
rage,  or  the  sun  shines  brightly,  unobserved  by  the  miners 
burrowing  deep  in  the  bowels  of  the  mountains. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  as  they  thus  left  the  tun 
nel  and  entered  the  cabin.  They  did  not  expect  to 
visit  the  tunnel  again  until  the  next  morning,  leaving 
it  all  that  time  to  thoroly  clear  itself  of  the  deadly  dyna 
mite  fumes  and  gases.  Soon  they  got  the  supper  going, 
ate  it,  cleared  the  table;  and  Standish,  after  reading  a 
short  time,  went  to  bed,  very  tired,  and  acting  strangely 
unlike  himself. 

Peter  had  noticed  with  considerable  alarm  his  son's 
excessive  weariness,  but  had  attributed  it  largely  to  the 


51 

sudden  change  of  altitude  from  Denver  to  Plume.  The 
previous  day  he  had  told  him  the  details  of  Mollie's 
wedding,  Theodore's  success  with  the  Sampson-Smith, 
and  informed  him  of  all  those  little  news  items  not  men 
tioned  in  his  letters.  He  had  not  written  to  him  about 
the  wedding,  having  hoped  that  he  would  take  it  more 
easily  as  the  time  passed  with  the  flying  weeks ;  and  altho 
Standish  had  followed  his  father's  narrative  with  ap 
parent  indifference,  yet  Peter  could  see  that  every  detail 
of  it  struck  deeper  and  deeper  into  his  already  deeply 
wounded  soul. 

In  his  anguish  Standish  accused  himself  of  staying 
away  too  long,  of  not  having  sent  her  a  plain  gold  ring, 
which  would  have  served  the  purpose  until  he  could 
have  purchased  a  better  one.  He  compared  the  bright 
thoughts  and  happy  dreams  of  his  home  coming  which 
he  had  enjoyed  previous  to  the  receipt  of  Mollie's  last 
friendly  letter,  with  this  dreary,  unhappy,  heart  break 
ing  return  to  Plume,  snowed  in  as  it  was  with  all  the  fierce 
blasts  of  winter.  This  wild  play  of  the  son's  thoughts 
was  not  wholly  visible  to  the  happy  father,  however,  who 
hobbled  about  at  the  sight  of  his  son,  as  joyfully  as 
a  faithful  dog  greets  his  master's  return. 

The  next  morning  broke  fair  and  beautiful,  and  Stan- 
dish,  somewhat  refreshed  by  his  night's  sleep,  coaxed  his 
father  to  go  into  the  tunnel  at  once,  to  see  if  they  had 
really  struck  the  lode.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  plied  his 
labors  so  long  and  hopelessly  in  that  terrible  gray  hole 
thruout  the  long  ^ears,  that  he  could  scarcely  believe 
that  his  task  was  so  nearly  accomplished. 

He  led  the  wray,  breaking  thru  the  deep  snowdrifts, 
panting  and  sweating.  As  he  started  to  light  the  candles 
at  the  door  of  the  tunnel,  his  father  who  had  followed 
less  precipitately,  came  up. 

"  My  God !  Look  there,  son !"  he  cried  eagerly. 

Standish's  eyes  followed  his  pointing  finger.  In  the 
little  gutter,  cut  so  conscientiously  by  himself  the 
whole  length  of  the  tunnel  in  the  right  edge  of  the 
floor,  was  a  stream  of  water  filling  it  to  the  full ;  and  the 
fresh  layer  of  sediment  upon  the  entire  floor  of  the  tun- 


52          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

nel,  showed  that  for  a  while  the  stream  had  flowed  deep 
and  swift  enough  to  cover  the  floor  itself. 

Yes,  there  was  undoubtedly  a  fine  stream  of  water 
flowing  from  the  tunnel  of  the  40  Rounds.  And  a  care 
ful  examination  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  entire  ledge 
of  rock  which  sloped  abruptly  away  from  the  tunnel's 
mouth,  had  been  swept  of  the  snow  and  a  mantle  of  ice 
lay  there  instead.  The  water  gushing  warm  from  the 
tunnel,  having  frozen  upon  the  ledge  as  the  stream  flowed 
over  the  rocks  toward  the  creek.  In  fact,  it  was  a  frozen 
cascade. 

Inspired  by  this  undoubted  proof  of  their  striking 
the  lode  at  last,  the  two  men  rushed  wildly  forward  into 
the  depths.  Arriving  at  the  breast,  which  was  jagged 
and  scarred  from  the  effects  of  the  blast,  they  saw  water 
spurting  from  several  holes;  while  upon  the  floor  was  a 
large  quantity  of  soft  vein  matter  deposited  there  by  the 
blast  and  the  rush  of  the  waters  when  first  released. 
Standish  picked  up  a  piece  of  the  fallen  rock.  At  one 
end,  it  sparkled  like  a  mass  of  brilliant  garnets. 

It  was  ORE. 

Thrusting  the  candle  into  his  father's  hand,  he  seized  a 
pick,  and  drove  it  into  the  breast.  It  sank  into  the  mass 
with  a  soft  chug,  sounding  as  if  it  had  struck  a  bank 
of  clay.  He  pulled  it  out,  and  thrusting  in  a  shovel,  he 
brought  out  shovelful  after  shovelful  of  heavy  talc, 
mixed  with  masses  of  ore. 

That  last  shot  had  penetrated  the  long  sought  for  lode 
of  the  40  Rounds.  They  were  fabulously  rich. 

Old  Peter  shouted  like  a  demon,  and  grabbed  up  pieces 
of  the  rich  stuff  and  tried  to  eat  them,  cutting  his  tongue 
severely  on  the  sharp  edges.  He  licked  one  particularly 
rich  looking  piece  with  his  bloody  tongue  as  tho  it  were 
a  piece  of  sugar.  In  his  ravings  over  his  new  found  wealth 
he  almost  forgot  his  own  son.  But  finally  recovering 
himself,  he  glanced  at  Standish. 

After  Standish  had  fully  satisfied  himself  that  they  had 
really  struck  the  lode,  he  seemed  quite  unnerved.  In 
stead  of  a  great  joy  filling  his  heart,  he  groaned  with 


"  And   turning  to   the   sheer  blank   wall,    he   drove   the   pick   at   it 
with  almost  superhuman  force." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          53 

unspeakable  anguish.    The  rare  sparkle  of  the  beautiful 
ore  seemed  to  mock  him. 

"Molliel  Mollie!"  he  moaned  in  agonizing  protest, 
"If  I  had  only  known  it.  One  more  foot  into  this  accursed 
granite  would  have  given  you  to  me."  And  crazed  by  the 
thought,  he  again  seized  the  pick. 

"  God  Almighty !"  he  cried,  lifting  his  wild,  haggard 
eyes  upward,  and  raising  the  pick  menacingly,  "You  have 
robbed  me  of  her,  curse  you,  curse  you.  Satan  himself 
could  not  have  devised  a  more  unholy  trick  than  this." 
And  turning  to  the  sheer  blank  wall,  he  drove  the  pick  at 
it  with  almost  superhuman  force,  the  tool  breaking  in  his 
hands. 

The  Lord  of  the  World  had  indeed  placed  the  pre 
cious  ore  just  one  foot  beyond  his  reach.  That  foot  of 
granite  had  cost  the  young  miner  his  bride. 

It  is  thus  that  men  face  Destiny,  even  to  the  smallest 
fraction  of  time.  Its  massive  jaws  shut  in  the  lightning's 
flash.  A  watch  marks  the  seconds,  but  Destiny  splits 
them,  and  its  decree  is  as  irrevocable  as  death. 

Mollie's  change  of  heart  and  her  marriage  was  a  ter 
rible  shock-  to  Standish.  It  was  the  act  of  a  drama  in 
which  the  hero  is  inmeshed  in  difficulties,  the  cause  of 
which  he  is  largely  in  ignorance  of;  but  the  falling  of 
this  foot  of  granite,  was  an  act  in  which  the  villain  stood 
revealed.  That  villain  was  Destiny. 

The  mighty  blow  of  the  pick  which  Standish  had 
struck,  was  a  wild  despairing  protest.  A  vain  endeavor 
to  slay  the  monster.  But  Destiny  smiles  in  the  faces  of 
its  victims,  and  whips  them  ever  pitilessly  onward  up  the 
steep  road  of  Life. 

Peter  had  by  this  time  regained  his  senses  sufficiently 
to  hear  the  wild  cursings  of  his  son.  He  saw  the  mighty 
blow  of  the  pick  which  shattered  it  in  pieces,  and  a  mo 
ment  later  he  saw  him  stretched  rigid  upon  the  wet 
muddy  floor  of  the  tunnel. 

"  Oh !  God !  Oh,  sweet,  tender  Jesus,  forgive  my  boy," 
he  cried,  "His  wrongs  have  made  him  demented,  or  he 
never  would  have  said  it."  he  moaned  in  despair.  And 


54  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

kneeling  over  the  rigid  form  of  the'  unhappy  youth, 
Peter  prayed  for  his  forgiveness,  and  wept  bitterly. 

There  in  the  rock-bound  heart  of  the  Emerald,  drip 
ping  in  the  flow  of  the  waters,  and  smeared  with  the  rich 
mud  of  his  great  mine,  Peter  Brown  maintained  the  cove 
nant  with  his  Maker.  Madly  exultant  as  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  his  vast  riches,  yet  what  were  they  compared  to 
his  peace  with  God? 

As  nothing,  absolutely  nothing. 

"NIL  SINE  NUMINE," 


PART  TWO 


THE   SKY-LINE   OF  THE   VAST 


BOOK  ONE 

THE    GRAVEDIGGER  AND  THE    STAR 


CHAPTER    I 

PETER  heard  a  knock  on  the  door.  He  opened  it, 
and  in  stepped  the  widow  Rogan,  puffing  heavily 
from  her  exertions  in  climbing  the  steep  trail. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Rogan,"  he  said  cordially. 

"  Shure,  'tis  mesilf,  Mr.  Brown.  I  thought  I'd  be  comin' 
up  to  see  yez,  and  to  say  good-bye.  An'  —  an'  how's  the 
lad?"  she  said,  between  breaths,  looking  in  the  direction 
of  the  bed  upon  which  Standish  laid. 

"  I  believe  he's  gaining  somewhat  now,  Mrs.  Rogan. 
Have  a  chair,"  replied  Peter. 

Standish  turned  in  the  bed  as  he  heard  the  sound  of 
her  voice,  and  faintly  smiled  a  greeting  to  her.  It  was  the 
first  time  they  had  met  since  he  had  left  for  Denver 
nearly  a  year  ago.  Going  over  to  the  bed  she  patted  him 
on  the  shoulder. 

"Poor  lad,"  she  said,  "yez  have  ben  havin'  a  hard  time 
of  it,  I  hear."  And  as  Standish  nodded  in  reply,  she  con 
tinued.  "  The  lads  have  ben  tellin'  me  that  yez  have 
sthruck  it  rich  in  the  mine.  God  be  praised  fer  it,  Mr. 
Brown." 

Seating  herself  in  the  chair  which  Peter  had  set  out 
for  her,  she  looked  up  kindly  at  the  two  men,  Peter  hav 
ing  seated  himself  on  the  side  of  the  bed.  There  was  a 
brief  silence  for  a  moment  which  was  broken  by  the 
widow. 

"I'm  goin'  to  lave  Plume,  Mr.  Brown,"  she  said. 
"Yis,  a  Saturday  morning.  Me  dahter  is  goin'  to  live 
in  Dinver  now  fer  good.  Mr.  Dodge,  me  new  son-in-law, 
is  permoted  to  a  bether  job,  and  they  have  invited  me 
fer  to  jine  them  in  the  new  home.  Yis,  Mr.  Brown,"  she 

57 


58          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

continued,  looking  up  at  them  pathetically,  with  a  world 
of  sympathy  and  silent  meaning  in  her  voice.  "  If  ye 
plaze,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry  fer  it  all.  Indade,  I  thought  me 
dahter  was  goin'  to  marry  the  lad  here ;  but  these  gurruls, 
sir,  how  they  do  switch  their  moinds.  I  felt  so  sorry  fer 
the  lad.  Him  a  workin'  so  hard  down  there  in  Dinver. 
Shure,  didn't  the  brakeman  tell  me  all  about  it.  Yis,  this 
lovin'  and  cooin'  bizness  is  too  much  fer  the  likes  of  me, 
Mr.  Brown.  Indade,  I  got  married  mesilf  in  jist  about 
two  minutes  one  avnin',  after  waithv  fer  over  ten  years 
fer  me  good  lad.  Ah  me,  oh  my,  Mr.  Rogan  was  a  foine 
lad,  too,  Mr.  Brown;  shure  he's  bin  dead  these  many 
years,  poor  man."  And  here  the  widow  started  to  sniffle 
as  the  two  looked  at  her  sympathetically. 

Wiping  her  eyes  she  continued,  "  En  I  came  fer  to 
say  to  yez,  Mr.  Brown,  and  to  you,  too,  me  poor  lad," 
smiling  at  Standish,  "that  whinever  yez  come  down  to 
Dinver,  be  sure  to  look  me  up,  and  yez  will  have  a  warrum 
en  dacent  wilcome  from  me  own  self,  to  be  shure.  Ah 
me,  oh  my,  Mr.  Brown,  it's  always  the  way.  I  thought 
the  foine  lad  here  would  be  me  son,  but  'tis  no  use  figr- 
ing  on  such  a  thing  as  love.  'Tis  loike  two  bawlin'  cats 
tinder  yer  windy,  a  yillin'  so  tirrible  loike  fer  one  minute, 
that  whin  yez  go  fer  yer  bucket  of  water,  shure  be  the 
toime  yez  gits  back,  there  they  are  —  the  decatful  creath- 
ures  —  snuggled  up,  the  one  to  the  other,  loike  two  cooin' 
doves.  Indade,  I  never  could  in  all  me  loife,  Mr.  Brown, 
tell  the  difference  between  two  cats  a  snarlin'  and  a  spit- 
tin'  at  each  other,  an  the  crazy  gurruls  as  spark  about  with 
the  lads,  a  changin'  their  moinds  every  few  dajTs,  an  a 
finally  callin'  fer  the  bans  with  the  man  you  niver 
thought  on.  Shure,  tis  a  strange  thing,  this  fit  of  love 
bizness,  Mr.  Brown." 

Standish  felt  rather  embarrassed  at  the  drift  of  the 
widow's  remarks,  but  the  old  lady  spoke  with  such  genu 
ine  sympathy  and  characteristic  Hibernian  kindliness, 
that  he  restrained  his  protests  and  only  smiled. 

Peter  also  felt  the  kindliness  of  the  old  lady  as  she 
spoke  in  her  quaint  Irish  way,  touched  here  and  there 
with  the  old  country  brogue;  and  after  a  long  and  pleas- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  59 

ant  chat,  she  rose  to  go,  renewing  her  earnest  solicitations, 
that  when  they  came  to  Denver,  they  must  be  sure  to 
look  her  up. 

"  Shure,  Mr.  Brown,  I'll  git  to  go  to  church  agin.  In- 
dade,  'tis  a  pleasure  to  know  that,  Mr.  Brown,  after  these 
many  months.  Here  in  this  wee  bit  of  a  town  I  was  all 
alone  with  no  gude  priest  to  go  to.  But  down  in  Dinver, 
Mr.  Brown,  'twill  be  different.  Shure,  I'll  see  the  gude 
father  once  more,"  she  repeated,  as  Peter  gave  her  a  final 
bow  and  closed  the  door. 

She  hurried  down  the  trail  as  fast  as  her  portliness 
would  allow,  her  dull  blue  eyes  lighting  up  visibly  at  the 
thought  of  once  more  worshipping  in  the  old  church, 
which  privilege  she  had  long  been  denied' in  priestless  and 
churchless  Plume.  In  her  deep  retrospection,  all  the  well 
remembered  charms  of  the  old  church  life  came  back  to 
her.  The  "gude"  father,  the  vespers,  the  visits  of  the  gen 
tle  sisters  soliciting  funds  and  clothing  for  their  charities, 
and  oft  times  too,  dropping  those  delicious  bits  of  their 
history  which  only  add  to  their  charm  and  mystery;  and 
then,  those  long,  pleasant  chats  with  the  old  parishioners 
on  the  way  back  from  service,  talking  over  old  times  on 
the  distant  Isle  of  the  Green. 

The  Browns  looked  questioningly  at  each  other  after 
the  departure  of  the  widow.  They  were  almost  tempted 
to  laugh  at  her  quaint  musings,  but  the  kindly  talk  of  the 
old  lady  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  their  hearts,  and 
they  accepted  her  words  as  the  honest  offerings  of  a  good 
heart. 

Somehow,  for  a  whole  day  after  her  visit,  the  atmos 
phere  of  their  cabin  seemed  chastened  with  a  soft  touch 
of  femininity. 


CHAPTER    II 

There  are  two  great  phenomena  upon  the  world's  sur 
face  which  have  always  defied  the  most  subtile  and  in 
spired  literary  efforts  of  man. 

The  OCEAN  and  the  MOUNTAINS. 

They  absolutely  defy  description. 

The  Argonaut  sails  out  upon  the  profound  bosom,  of 
the  ocean.  He  looks  at  its  surface.  He  views  and  ex 
periences  the  long,  easy  roll  of  the  tide  swells,  the  smooth, 
glassy  expanse  of  the  calm,  the  fierce,  angry  billows  of  the 
storm. 

He  meets  many  strange  craft  upon  the  high  seas,  all 
of  which  are  probably  registered  at  Lloyd's  or  elsewhere 
among  the  world's  shipping.  Occasionally  he  meets  a 
derelict,  a  piece  of  wreckage,  or  a  bit  of  sea-weed.  Then 
schools  of  fish,  from  the  half  bird-like  flying-fish,  to  the 
high  spouting  leviathan;  together  with  many  flocks  and 
solitaries  of  ctrange  birds  and  fowls ;  and  yet  the  most  of 
this  myriad  life,  perhaps  all  —  flora,  fish  and  fowl,  are 
described  and  classified  in  the  books  of  man. 

Then  he  casts  his  eye  beneath  the  surface  of  this  mighty 
flood  of  waters.  In  the  shallows  he  sees  schools  of  fishes, 
their  brilliant  hued  bodies  glistening  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun  like  diminutive  rainbows.  Beneath  the  shallow  waves, 
he  beholds  the  opaque  jelly-fish,  the  formidable  lobster, 
and  hundreds  of  other  wonderful  species  which  inhabit 
the  yellow  sands  as  they  gleam  and  shine  beneath  the 
waves  of  the  rolling  deep.  And  yet  all  these,  too,  are 
known  to  man,  and  a  glance  at  a  volume  of  natural  his 
tory  will  suffice  to  enlighten  and  classify  for  him  all  these 
wondrous  creatures. 

But  the  DEPTHS. 

The  vast,  fathomless,  silent,  yawning  caverns  of  the 
deep.  This  gigantic  Fount  of  Aqua,  which  engulfs  the 

61 


62  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

keenest  vision  with  its  baffling  waves,  and  rolls  back  the 
most  intrepid  diver  in  the  play  of  its  ponderous  billows. 

Far  out  upon  the  deep  blue  ocean,  gazing  down  at  the 
unknown  miles  of  salt  water  rolling  and  surging  beneath 
the  keel  of  your  stout  ship. 

No  Lloyd's  register  here,  no  shallows,  no  visible  yellow 
sands,  no  natural  history.  Naught,  save  the  vast  impene 
trable  DEPTHS. 

Therein  dwells  Mystery,  inviolate. 

A  supreme  and  dreadful  silence. 

Hushed,  until  that  awful  hour,  when  these  salt-vaulted 
cemeteries  of  the  sea  shall  vomit  forth  their  dead,  and  the 
vast  seething  fathoms  of  the  Deep  shall  roll  back  as  a 
scroll  upon  the  Judgment  Day. 

Then  only  will  that  abysmal  profundity  be  shattered,  to 
bellow  and  howl  its  dreadful  ages  of  pitiless  smother  to 
rocking  skies. 

Then  only  will  that  mighty  mystery  which  now  sleeps 
within  the  silent  bosom  of  the  Deep,  awake  to  mingle  its 
hallelujahs  with  those  of  a  naked,  shredded  world. 

And  the  MOUNTAINS. 

Those  deep,  secret-keeping  brothers  of  the  Ocean. 

These  great  Rocky  Mountains.  This  roof  of  America. 
A  chain  of  great  peaks  representing  some  pitiful  two  or 
three  of  the  eight  thousand  diametric  miles  of  Mother 
Earth,  thrust  suddenly  upward  among  the  clouds. 

A  few,  insignificant,  perpendicular  miles  of  terra-firma. 

A  mere  fraction  of  the  enormous  bulk  of  the  globe. 

A  tiny  niche  cut  upon  the  tallest  telegraph  pole. 

Only  a  mountain.    Yet  how  vast. 

A  great  roof,  upon  which  many  leagued  forests  grow, 
eagles  nest,  wild  beasts  roam,  avalanches  slide,  and  swift 
streams  rush  down  as  rain  from  the  eaves. 

It  is  comparatively  easy  for  one  to  record  the  mere 
height  of  a  mountain,  describe  its  flora,  name  the  species 
of  its  animal  life,  measure  the  flow  of  its  glaciers,  classify 
its  visible  rocks,  and  dilate  upon  its  high  peaked  gran 
deur. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  63 

But  the  DEPTHS. 

Here,  as  with  its  foaming  brother,  the  Ocean,  the  his 
tory  of  the  Mountain  ceases.  The  poet's  lofty  imagery 
fails  him.  He  falls  aghast  at  beetling  immensity.  He 
groans  in  the  unspeakable  emotion  of  the  greatest  song 
unsung,  INFINITUDE. 

Nearly  eight  thousand  mysterious  miles  under  the  feet 
of  every  man,  yet  he  scarce  knows  one  of  them. 

As  we  stand  upon  some  projecting  crag,  viewing  the 
silent  grandeur  of  the  Brothers  in  White,  we  may  be 
standing  close  upon  vast  wealth. 

Beneath  this  tangle  of  aspen  and  spruce  may  be  a  treas 
ure  cave,  a  depository  of  virgin  gold.  A  slender  thread 
of  quartz  upon  yonder  inaccessible  cliff  might  lead  us,  if 
we  dared  follow  it  a  few  yards,  to  a  vault  of  shining 
silver. 

We  stand  in  the  bottom  of  this  valley,  watching  the 
gushing  forth  of  a  boiling  hot  spring. 

Whence  comes  it? 

From  what  Titanic  kettle  is  this  steaming  flood  spewed 
forth? 

Perhaps  if  we  could  fathom  its  source,  we  would  find  it 
flowing  hot  from  the  workshop  of  Pluto. 

What  workman  fashioned  this  specimen  of  quartz 
which  glitters  like  the  moon  on  one  side  and  rivals  in  its 
way  the  beam  of  the  golden  sun  on  the  other? 

Who?    Whence?    Where? 

From  out  the  DEPTHS. 

As  with  the  silent  depths  of  the  Ocean,  one  must  await 
the  dread  summons  of  Creation's  King,  to  see  revealed 
the  smoking  depths  of  these  treasure-vaulted  hills. 

In  the  little  hamlet,  on  the  farm,  or  in  the  teeming  city, 
the  poet  can  sit  himself  down  and  describe  the  minutia 
of  that  life,  until  the  catalogue  thus  rendered  registers  a 
perfect  record.  He  reaches  out,  he  examines,  he  records 
that  life.  When  he  publishes  that  record,  his  public  rec 
ognizes  it  as  a  perfect  mirror  of  that  narrow  and  limited 
life. 

But  the  OCEAN  and  the  MOUNTAINS. 

Fellows  and  kindred  of  the  unfathomable  sources  of 


64          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

quick-springing  Birth  and  all  swallowing  Death,  their  se 
crets  are  locked  fast  within  the  impenetrable  vaults  of 
high  imperious  Nature. 

A  Poem  of  the  Ocean  is  a  Song  of  the  Unexpressible. 

A  Song  of  the  Mountains  is  an  Aria  of  the  Unutterable. 

Far  up  the  east  slope  of  the  Peak  in  the  early  afternoon 
of  a  day  in  June  a  little  cavalcade  was  slowly  ascending. 
Peter,  riding  a  bay  gelding;  Standish,  leading  a  small 
black  mare,  followed  by  Shep,  a  collie  pup  recently  pur 
chased  by  Standish. 

After  the  Browns  struck  the  lode  in  the  tunnel  of  the 
40  Rounds,  Standish  had  succumbed  to  a  long  spell  of 
fever.  Peter  had  made  the  best  of  it,  quite  comfortably, 
too,  in  the  knowledge  of  his  new-found  riches. 

After  many  weeks  of  careful  nursing,  Standish  slowly 
recovered,  but  it  required  months  of  recuperation  before 
he  could  again  tap  the  drill  with  his  old-time  vigor. 

They  had  long  promised  themselves  this  trip  to  the 
summit  of  the  Peak. 

Lordly  the  noble  mountain  rose  in  the  West,  its  snowy 
helmet  crowning  the  very  crest  of  the  Divide.  On  the 
east  slope  it  faced  the  Great  Plains  of  Colorado;  and  on 
the  west  it  sloped  toward  the  great  Salt  Lake  of  Utah. 
To  the  north,  its  white  mantled  brothers  towered  in  glo 
rious  glittering  succession  towards  the  Wyoming  line ;  and 
to  the  south,  it  faced  the  scarlet  red-rocked  country  of 
the  Rio  Grande  del  Norte. 

The  Great  Peak. 

One  of  the  Snow  Kings  of  the  Range.  A  monarch 
among  many  great  mountains.  Clothed  in  royal  ermine, 
reclining  upon  a  throne  of  shining  green. 

The  Browns  expected  to  reach  timber-line  by  sunset, 
where  they  would  camp  for  the  night,  and  from  which 
point  they  could  easily  reach  the  summit  the  following 
day. 

Across  their  path  rushed  a  crystal  stream,  flowing  from 
under  a  great  bank  of  snow.  The  thirsty  horses  thrust 
their  noses  deep  into  the  pure  flood,  and  quaffed  long  and 
eagerly.  Shep  lapped  up  a  few  mouthfuls,  and  leaped 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE          65 

about  the  heels  of  the  two  men  as  they  drank  from  a  cup. 
High  in  the  blue  sky  above  them  soared  a  pair  of  eagles, 
searching  the  crags  for  conies,  the  little  rabbit  of  the  up 
per  slopes  of  the  Great  Hills. 

In  the  mountains  the  summers  are  short,  but  fair.  Ah ! 
wonderous  fair.  Eight  months  of  snow,  four  months  of 
grass.  Eight  months  of  white,  four  months  of  green. 
Two-thirds  of  a  year  of  bleakness,  one-third  of  verdure. 
This  is  Nature's  yearly  chronicle  on  the  Great  Divide. 

After  the  first  caresses  of  the  warm  June  sun,  Summer, 
as  if  fully  assured  of  the  Frost  King's  retreat,  bedecks  her 
self  with  all  the  gayety  and  wild  abandon  that  marks  her 
glorious  season. 

The  snow  retreats  far  up  into  the  gulches  and  canons, 
the  grass  emerging  as  it  melts,  and  the  flowers  thrusting 
up  their  delicate  petals  courageously  from  among  the 
lichen-covered  stones. 

In  June,  also,  the  slopes  of  the  mountains  fairly  glisten 
in  the  mad  profusion  and  white  spray  of  the  foaming 
waters  which  tumble  swiftly  down  upon  every  side  to 
swell  the  sources  of  the  sea.  The  lordly  pines  and  spruces 
renew  their  -green  with  the  tender  young  sprouts  of  the 
season.  The  aspens  spring  up  like  armies  of  green  uni 
formed  soldiers.  And  above  all,  far,  far  up,  piercing  the 
blue  vault  of  heaven  as  with  mighty,  waving  plumes, 
tower  those  high,  serene  summits,  where  winter  lives 
eternal. 

At  sunset  the  Browns  reached  their  goal,  a  little  clump 
of  stunted  pines,  just  below  timber-line. 

TIMBER-LINE. 

Eleven  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 

Where  the  larger  vegetation  ceases;  where  the  life  of 
the  green  pine  ends ;  where  the  rocks  rule  jointly  with  the 
snow. 

They  encamped  at  the  base  of  a  huge  cliff,  tethered  the 
horses  and  fed  them  with  a  generous  feed  of  oats  taken 
from  a  capacious  saddlebag.  The  camp  fire  was  built  of 
the  dry  twigs  of  the  dwarf  pines,  and  the  bacon  was  soon 
sputtering  over  the  fire. 

There  are  two  odors  in  the  mountains  which  exactly 
mate  —  frying  bacon  and  pine  balsam. 


66          THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

To  suddenly  inhale  them  together  is  to  develop  an  in 
different  appetite  into  a  ferocious  hunger. 

Into  the  bacon  grease,  sputtering  over  the  fire,  Peter 
dropped  slices  of  raw  potato,  while  Standish  started  the 
chocolate.  The  potatoes  were  soon  browned  and  the  choc 
olate  boiling.  Peter  placed  the  slices  of  bacon  and  fried 
potato  upon  a  tin  pan  while  Standish  produced  from  the 
saddlebags  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a  couple  of  tin  cups  for  the 
chocolate.  Cutting  off  slices  of  bread,  dipping  them  into 
the  grease  remaining  in  the  skillet,  picking  up  the  slices 
of  bacon  and  potato  with  the  fingers,  and  quaffing  the 
chocolate  from  a  tin  cup,  this  is  a  mountain  repast,  the 
prospector's  menu.  He  lives  on  this  kind  of  fare  for 
months  at  a  time,  and  actually  gets  fat  on  it.  Hard,  firm, 
solid  fat.  But  the  great  secret  is,  that  there  is  something 
else  which  goes  with  the  grub.  It's  air — glorious  moun 
tain  ozone. 

After  heaping  up  plenty  of  fuel  on  the  fire  and  gather 
ing  more  for  any  emergency  which  might  arise,  they  ad 
justed  the  tether  ropes  of  their  steeds,  got  out  their  blank 
ets  and  went  to  sleep,  Peter  making  Shep  lay  next  his 
back.  The  warmth  of  the  dog  would  help  resist  the  sharp 
cold  of  the  mountain  night  and  consequently  the  rheuma 
tism. 

At  the  first  peep  of  day  they  arose,  ate  a  cold  breakfast, 
saddled  the  hcrses,  and  began  the  three-thousand-foot 
climb  to  the  summit. 

What  a  magnificent  sunrise ! 

After  the  first  gray  tints  came  the  brown,  then  the  pink. 
A  dull  red,  slowly  spreading  into  a  deep  purple,  climbed 
up  the  horizon.  Then  vivid  patches  of  scarlet  appeared, 
followed  by  a  fierce  lurid  flame;  and  at  last  the  June  sun, 
hot,  lusty  and  amorous,  glowing  across  a  vast  wilderness 
of  plain  and  cities,  mounted  the  eastern  sky,  beaming  a 
glorious  day. 

As  they  gradually  ascended  above  timber-line,  they  be 
gan  to  more  clearly  distinguish  the  vast  panorama  which 
lay  at  their  feet.  Down  towards  the  sun  they  beheld  the 
Great  Plains  stretching  eastward  from  Denver,  the  city 
itself  hidden  by  towering  foothills  still  steaming  in  the 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE          67 

dews  and  mists  of  the  night;  with  the  upper  hills,  densely 
covered  with  conifers,  rolling  grandly  upward  in  ever 
ascending  billows  to  the  foot  of  the  snowy  range. 

Blue  patches  here  and  there  denoted  little  lakelets. 
Huge  rock-bound  cisterns  thus  hemmed  in  by  beetling 
cliffs.  From  the  teats  of  their  plump  breasts  flowed  tiny 
streams  feeding  the  distant  oceans.  Indeed,  they  were 
the  beautiful  mothers  of  the  mightiest  rivers  and  water 
courses  of  the  nation. 

A  chain  of  tiny  lakes  and  pools  clustering  on  the  west 
slope  of  the  Peak  feeds  the  roaring  Colorado,  which,  flow 
ing  thru  its  Grand  Canon  deposits  its  flood  into  the  Gulf 
of  California.  The  blue  waters  of  several  mountain  gems 
nestling  far  down  among  the  pines  upon  the  east  slope 
of  the  Peak  find  their  way  thru  the  Platte  and  the  Mis 
souri  into  the  Mississippi,  and  on  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Thus  these  matchless  reservoirs  of  the  Great  Hills  irri 
gate  the  arid  lands  of  eastern  Colorado  and  water  the 
thirsty  plains  of  Kansas  and  Nebraska;  and  on  the  south 
and  west  swell  the  Colorado  and  Rio  Grande,  to  moisten 
the  red  deserts  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico. 

The  hard-breathing  horses  waded  thru  the  deep  snow 
banks  on  the  north  side  of  the  Peak  as  the  dim  trail  cir 
cled  and  zig-zagged  in  its  steep  and  tortuous  ascent. 
Many  years  previous  the  United  States  government  had 
maintained  an  observation  station  on  the  summit,  but  it 
had  been  abandoned  for  some  time.  In  doing  so  the 
government  had  opened  up  a  horse-trail  clear  to  the  sum 
mit.  It  led  the  little  cavalcade  up  steep  ledges,  carried 
them  past  and  over  masses  of  semi-glacial  ice,  and  finally, 
after  a  last  and  laborious  climb,  they  arrived  on  the  sum 
mit  near  the  ruins  of  the  old  government  station. 

Both  men  and  beasts  were  struggling  for  breath.  Shep's 
tongue  was  lolling  out,  both  from  the  effects  of  the  alti 
tude  and  his  exhaustive  scamperings  after  the  saucy  and 
nimble  snow-birds. 

From  the  summit  of  a  mountain  the  eye  observes 
a  striking  feature  which  is  not  visible  from  the  depths 
of  the  valley  below. 

As  you  stand  in  the  valley  and  gaze  upward  at  the 


68  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

peaks,  the  eye  catches  only  the  perpendicular  effect.  You 
merely  observe  the  height. 

But  as  you  stand  upon  the  summit,  you  instantly  note 
the  enormous  flanks,  the  monstrous  buttresses  of  the 
range.  The  vast  bulk. 

You  look  down  upon  great  mountain  meadows,  enor 
mous  granite  shelves,  wide  pine-covered  flats  and  innu 
merable  lakelets  and  pools  tucked  away  in  huge  rocky 
pockets  which  line  the  broad  extended  ridges  of  the 
range.  And  this  —  this  is  the  crowning  triumphant  im 
pression  of  these  Titans. 

After  observing  the  height  of  the  elephant,  you  are 
placed  upon  its  back;  and  for  the  first  time  you  observe 
the  vast  shoulders,  the  enormous  hips  and  the  tremendous 
masses  of  flesh  hanging  about  its  neck  and  back. 

Thus  it  is  with  these  overwhelming  hills. 

Towering,  beetling  height;  enormous  width;  colossal, 
distended,  gigantic  CORPULENCE. 

The  summit  was  a  mass  of  broken  boulders,  disin 
tegrated  granite,  snow  and  ice.  At  one  time  it  must  have 
been  an  enormous  towering  ledge,  but  centuries  of  the 
alternate  dynamic  action  of  frost  and  sun  had  shattered 
it  into  fragments.  This  process  was  still  going  on.  As 
the  sun  rose  higher  and  beat  down  more  fiercely,  it  melted 
masses  of  half-frozen  snow,  which,  falling  hundreds  of 
feet  below  over  the  edge  of  great  cliffs,  would  start  other 
huge  masses  of  snow  and  rocky  debris,  and  the  Browns 
could  hear  the  roar  of  the  avalanches  as  they  rushed  with 
frightful  velocity  a  mile  or  more  below  them,  down  the 
steep  sides  of  the  mountain,  to  plunge  at  last  into  the 
trembling  and  helpless  valley  with  a  fearful  crash  and 
roar. 

Peter  produced  a  pair  of  field  glasses  from  his  blouse, 
and,  adjusting  them,  slowly  scanned  the  glorious  pano 
rama.  After  a  few  minutes  observation  he  handed  them 
to  Stan  dish. 

Plume  was  plainly  visible,  tucked  snugly  away  in  the 
deep  gulch,  and  far  down  towards  the  east,. appearing  like 
a  mere  foothill,  was  the  bald  summit  and  green  slopes 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          69 

of  the  Emerald,  smoking  hotly  in  the  rays  of  the  mount 
ing  sun. 

The  horses  peered  wonderingly  about  them.  At  all  the 
stopping  places  below  timber-line  they  had  been  able  to 
nibble  tufts  of  grass  and  the  green  tops  of  berry  bushes; 
but  in  the  steep  climb  from  timber-line  to  the  summit, 
the  only  comfort  they  could  extract  with  their  desiring 
tongues  was  to  lick  a  piece  of  ice,  or  thrust  their  muzzles 
into  a  snow-bank  to  quench  their  thirst.  Shep,  who  had 
recovered  his  breath  somewhat,  had  gained  a  perch  upon 
a  huge  boulder.  Peering  into  the  fearful  depths  below, 
he  would  bark  at  the  two  men  from  time  to  time,  as  if 
he  must  give  some  expression  at  the  spectacle  of  the  won 
drous  view. 

The  sun  was  just  past  the  meridian  when  they  swept 
the  view  with  the  glasses.  Unseating  themselves  from 
their  saddles,  they  sat  upon  the  doprsill  of  the  old  gov 
ernment  station  house  and  basked  in  the  sunshine.  As 
the  wind  blew  up  warm  and  gusty  from  Utah,  Peter  ob 
served  a  gorgeous-winged  creature  floating  in  the  air 
nearby.  Presently  it  alighted  upon  his  coat  sleeve.  It 
was  a  huge  bumble-bee.  Crawling  over  the  sleeve  for  a 
moment,  vainly  searching  for  something  to  fill  its  paunch, 
the  beauteous  yellow  and  gold  thing^  jauntily  spread  its 
tiny  wings  and  shot  over  the  summit  into  the  yawning 
maw  of  the  valley  far  below. 

Ah  I    Wondrous  Nature. 

An  insect  flying  over  a  mountain  top.  Happy,  heed 
less  of  the  cloud  monarch's  terrible  brow,  and  perfectly  at 
home  upon  the  breast  of  the  soft  summer  breeze. 

Several  'butterflies  came  up  with  the  same  fresh  breeze, 
the  airy  creatures  fluttering  out  into  the  fearful  maw  of 
the  valley,  dancing  upon  the  breast  of  the  breeze,  appar 
ently  unconscious  of  the  frightful  leap  from  the  high 
summit  to  the  yawning  depths  below. 

The  two  men  followed  the  airy  flight  of  the  delicate 
creatures  with  tender  solicitous  gaze.  Then  they  looked 
into  each  other's  eyes.  A  tear  trickled  down  the  bronzed 
cheek  of  old  Peter,  this  hero  of  stern  war.  Standish's 
countenance  was  stoical,  but,  nevertheless,  a  song  rever 
berated  in  his  soul. 


70          THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Peter  spoke,  "Father,  we  rest  within  Thy  holy  keep 
ing." 

After  drinking  to  the  full  the  inspiration  of  the  glo 
rious  view,  they  remounted  their  horses  and  began  to  de 
scend  the  trail.  The  sun  was  fast  declining,  and  the  trail 
was  much  more  perilous  to  descend  than  to  climb,  owing 
to  the  soft  slush  and  rotten  ice  which  the  fierce  play  of 
the  sun  had  produced. 

Most  of  the  way  they  were  forced  to  walk,  leading  their 
patient  animals.  At  dark  they  reached  their  former 
camping  place  at  timber-line,  fed  their  steeds  and  ate 
their  supper. 

Standish  made  a  glorious  fire,  heaping  it  high  with 
fragrant  pine  boughs.  The  night  was  keenly  frosty,  the 
stars  shone  brightly,  and  the  vast  slopes  of  the  Peak  tow 
ering  far  above  them,  echoed  the  weird  songs  of  the  fall 
ing  waters  and  rushing  streams. 

Peter  drew  up  a  log  to  brace  his  old  rheumatic  back, 
threw  a  blanket  over  his  shoulders  like  an  Indian,  and 
blew  great  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke  toward  the  firelight. 
Shep  thrust  his  nose  between  his  brown  paws  and  blinked 
dreamily  at  the  fire.  Standish,  who  did  not  smoke,  was 
almost  tempted  to  that  night,  as  he  viewed  the  serene 
pleasure  and  lusty  smoke-blowing  of  his  father.  Thus 
they  sat  looking  long  and  silently  into  the  fire. 

Peter  was  attending  a  play  in  the  greatest  theatre  in  the 
world.  It  was  in  his  soul.  A  theatre  which  is  in  the  soul 
of  every  human  being;  perhaps  of  every  living  thing 
within  their  limits. 

He  first  saw  great  heaps  of  treasure,  of  silver  and  gold. 
This  treasure  then  turned  into  clouds  of  bank  notes.  He 
saw  himself  rich,  influential,  a  power  among  men.  He 
next  saw  his  old  home,  just  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  his 
youth ;  then  he  saw  his  father  and  mother. 

They  stood  there  just  as  plainly  upon  the  magic  stage 
of  this  wonderful  theatre,  as  when  he  saw  them  last  in  real 
flesh  and  blood.  He  spoke  to  them,  and  they  answered. 
Then  he  saw  his  beautiful,  tender  wife,  Mary.  In  a  flash, 
he  beheld  again  all  the  love  scenes  of  their  wooing;  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          71 

old  trysting  place,  the  wedding,  their  joy  at  the  birth  of 
Standish.  He  could  even  reach  out  and  touch  the  little 
red-faced  fellow,  as  when  he  first  came  with  his  tiny  cry, 
sputtering  and  protesting  into  the  great  world. 

Then  came  the  scene  of  the  gentle  Mary's  funeral. 
Hasten,  playwright,  the  sad  scene  affects  the  old  man. 

And  now  again,  his  wealth. 

He  saw  himself  going  to  Denver,  buying  tools,  supplies, 
account  books.  He  beheld  the  mine  giving  up  its  vast 
hoard.  He  saw  railroads  and  trams  built,  and  in  opera 
tion.  He  saw  a  fine  house  in  Plume.  Here  he  gave  a  gift 
to  a  friend.  He  saw  his  name  mentioned  in  the  news 
papers  as  Peter  Brown,  the  Bonanza  King. 

And  in  the  matchless  beauty  of  these  swift-moving 
scenes,  his  eyes  drooped,  the  lids  closed,  the  pipe  fell  from 
his  lips,  and  the  old  man  slept,  seeing  in  his  dreams  still 
fairer  scenes  in  the  sublime  theatre  of  his  soul. 

Standish  saw  the  pipe  fall,  and  heard  his  father's  first 
deep  snore.  Presently,  too,  he  heard  Shep  faintly  yelping 
in  his  sleep,  and  saw  his  body  shaking  slightly.  Shep 
was  undoubtedly  being  held  spellbound  in  his  little  dog 
gie  soul  theatre,  chasing  rabbits  and  snow-birds  in  his 
sleep. 

Standish  was  trying  to  forget.  Thru  all  his  long  sick 
ness  he  had  tried  to  forget  Mollie,  but  in  vain.  Then  he 
had  hoped  that  in  the  change  and  inspiration  of  this 
mountain  climb  he  could  forget. 

He  kept  looking  into  the  fire,  and  soon  his  eyes  drooped 
also.  A  band  of  dream  players  came  trooping  into  the 
theatre  of  his  soul  and  the  play  was  on.  This  was  his 
dream. 

He  saw  Mollie.  Always  Mollie,  haunting  him  forever. 
Pale  and  beautiful  she  came  to  him.  He  tried  to  force 
her  away.  He  even  threatened  her,  but  still  she  advanced. 
She  embraced  him.  He  did  not  remember  the  cause,  but 
when  he  looked  again  at  her,  she  lay  upon  the  ground  as 
one  dead.  A  spade  was  suddenly  thrust  into  his  hand. 
He  drove  it  into  the  soft  earth  and  quickly  dug  a  grave. 
Everything  was  now  so  distinct  to  him. 

First,  the  layer  of  bright  green  sod,  then  the  soft  'brown 


72          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

earth,  which  he  tossed  up  on  each  side  of  him.  Finish 
ing  the  grave,  he  lifted  Mollie  in  his  arms  and  carried  her 
to  the  edge.  Then  placing  her  within  it,  he  gathered  an 
armful  of  flowers  and  ferns.  How  beautiful  they  seemed 
to  him,  how  fragrant.  He  covered  her  with  them.  They 
seemed  to  caress  the  sweet  lips  and  press  caressingly  her 
beautiful  form.  He  stood  over  the  grave  with  the  spade 
in  his  hands,  ready  to  throw  down  upon  her  the  heavy 
turf;  and  he  felt  himself  shuddering  at  the  thought  of 
covering  her  with  the  cold  earth.  But  she  was  lost  to 
him.  She  was  dead.  The  clods  fell.  Only  a  mound  re 
mained.  He  started  away  a  few  steps,  and  then  he  thought 
he  heard  a  laugh.  He  looked  around,  and  upon  the 
mound  lay  Mollie,  just  as  natural  as  when  he  placed  her 
in  the  grave. 

Surely  she  was  dead  to  him.  'Had  not  his  thought 
decreed  it?  Therefore  she  must  be  buried.  Quite  vexed, 
he  dug  another  grave  and  buried  her  as  before.  He 
started  to  depart  again,  and  again  he  heard  the  laugh ;  and 
looking  around  as  before,  he  again  saw  her  form  on  top 
of  the  newly-made  grave. 

How  provoking.  How  many  times  he  buried  her  thus 
in  the  dream  he  never  could  remember.  The  last  time, 
however,  he  not  only  dug  the  grave,  but  he  toiled  and 
toiled  to  roll  upon  it  a  monstrous  stone.  Surely  such  a 
weight  would  hold  her  secure.  Again  he  walked  away. 
He  turned  quickly  as  he  heard  the  provoking  laugh.  The 
great  stone  had  been  rolled  away,  and  the  prostrate  form 
of  his  old  love  laid  beside  it. 

Returning,  he  broke  into  tears  beside  his  promised 
bride.  He  had  buried  her.  Why  did  she  not  remain  in 
her  grave  which  he  had  prepared  so  tenderly? 

Then  the  laugh  sounded  close  beside  him,  and,  turning 
quickly,  he  beheld  an  old,  old  man.  In  this  old  man's 
hands  was  an  hour-glass  and  a  scythe.  His  beard  of  snowy 
white  reached  far  out  into  the  dim  forest  glades,  and  was 
lost  to  view  in  the  distance.  Standish  did  not  know  it  at 
the  time,  but  that  beard  was  a  thousand  leagues  long.  It 
had  grown  and  remained  uncut,  from  the  very  first  mo 
ment  of  the  year  One.  Its  owner  was  Father  Time. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          73 

"  Here  is  a  wise  man,  undoubtedly,"  thought  Standish. 
"  A  veritable  hoary  Ulysses."  And,  appealing  to  him,  he 
said,  "See,  kind  sir,  this  is  my  old  love.  I  have  tried  to 
bury  her,  but  the  grave  will  not  hold  her." 

The  old  man  spoke,  looking  at  him  queerly  with  his 
merry,  twinkling  eyes. 

"  Frail  youth,  do  you  not  know  that  this,  your  old  love, 
is  still  a  living  thing.  It  appears  dead,  but  'tis  not  so.  It 
is  a  thing  immortal.  The  grave  will  not  hold  an  old  love. 
The  memory  of  an  old  love  is  a  star,  which,  once  rising, 
will  shine  forever  within  the  firmament  of  the  soul.  Kiss 
her  good-bye,  then  I  will  show  you." 

Standish  knelt  down  by  the  side  of  the  beautiful  form. 
He  kissed  the  sweet  face  tenderly,  and  wiped  the  tears 
from  his  eyes.  Then  the  old  man  laid  aside  his  hour-glass 
and  scythe,  and,  waving  his  hands  over  the  prostrate 
form,  he  repeated  this  verse: 

"  One,  two  three. 
You  are  free. 
Mortal,  see!" 

Standish  looked  eagerly  thru  his  tears.  The  prostrate 
form  of  his  old  love  had  suddenly  been  changed  into  a 
beautiful  star.  It  rose,  and  soared  slowly  above  the  forest, 
and  far  up  into  the  blue  sky.  It  was  to  remain  thus  fixed 
in  the  firmament  of  his  soul  forever,  to  beam  down  upon 
him  its  tender,  twinkling  memories. 

Gathering  up  his  hour-glass  and  scythe,  Father  Time 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  saying: 

"  Ah !  My  lad,  you  cannot  bury  that  which  is  a  star. 
See,  it  will  shine  in  your  soul  forever,  a  bright  and  sacred 
memory.  Time  heals  all  wounds,  my  boy,  adieu  1"  And 
laughing  merrily  at  his  own  witticism,  the  old  man  disap 
peared. 

Standish  awoke  with  a  start.  An  ember  from  the  fire 
had  popped  into  his  hand.  He  shook  it  off,  and  looked 
across  the  fire  at  his  father  and  Shep.  They  were  still 
fast  asleep.  He  rose  and  stretched  himself,  and  stepped 
away  from  the  fire  into  the  night.  He  looked  up  at  the 
stars,  and  repeated  the  words  of  Father  Time,  "You 
cannot  bury  that  which  is  a  star."  Then  a  great  light 


74          THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

flooded  his  soul.  His  love  for  Mollie  had  risen  as  a  bright 
star  of  memory,  and  left  his  heart  free. 

Returning  to  the  fire,  he  replenished  it,  and  woke  his 
father,  fearing  he  would  take  cold.  Shep  had  risen  by 
this  time,  and  after  lazily  stretching  himself,  he  sud 
denly  began  to  growl.  The  two  men  looked  in  the  direc 
tion  that  his  nose  was  pointing,  immediately  distinguishing 
among  the  bushes  a  few  yards  away  a  pair  of  eyes  shining 
like  emeralds  as  they  reflected  the  light  of.  the  fire.  Shep's 
hair  was  standing  out  fiercely  by  this  time,  but,  pup  like, 
he  dared  not  encounter  the  intruder.  Standish  hastily 
picked  up  a  burning  brand  and  threw  it  at  the  gleaming 
eyes,  whereupon  they  disappeared.  It  was  probably  either 
a  wolf  or  a  cougar. 

The  two  men  then  went  over  to  the  horses,  and  found 
them  resting  quietly;  and  gathering  a  fresh  lot  of  wood, 
they  replenished  the  fire  for  the  night  and  got  into  their 
blankets.  Shep  managed  to  get  in  between  them,  and, 
snuggling  close,  would  raise  his  head  -suspiciously  from 
time  to  time  on  the  lookout  for  further  intruders. 

After  a  long  refreshing  sleep,  the  morning  broke  fair 
and  beautiful,  and  they  began  the  return  home.  Standish 
soon  began  to  sing  blithely,  and,  scorning  the  back  of  his 
little  black  mare,  he  ran  down  the  trail  as  nimbly  as  a 
deer.  Peter,  from  the  back  of  his  easy  bay  mount,  greatly 
rejoiced  at  the  spectacle,  and  exclaimed  to  himself: 

"Good,  the  boy's  himself  again." 


BOOK  TWO 

THE   CHAMBER  OF   VIRGINS 


CHAPTER    I 

UPON  their  return  from  the  Peak,  the  Browns  'began 
the  development  of  their  great  mine.  Upon  careful 
investigation,  they  found  that  they  had  broken 
into  a  great  ore  chamber,  extending  some  twenty-eight 
feet  from  wall  to  wall.  The  shaft  and  upper  workings 
of  the  40  Rounds  were  fully  fifteen  hundred  feet  above 
the  tunnel,  upon  the  top  of  the  ledge.  Thus  this  enor 
mous  body  of  ore  extended  hundreds,  perhaps  thousands, 
of  feet  below  the  floor  of  the  tunnel,  as  well  as  upward  to 
the  old  shaft  house  fifteen  hundred  feet  above. 

They  were  fairly  overwhelmed  with  the  possibilities  of 
this  colossal  wealth.  Considerable  water  was  still  flowing 
from  the  vein,  and  Standish  made  a  trip  up  to  the  old 
shaft,  finding  it  comparatively  dry,  thus  not  only  proving 
the  splendid  drainage  value  of  their  tunnel,  but  proving 
beyond  the  slightest  doubt  the  continuity  of  the  vein. 

A  mining  man  from  Denver  visited  them,  attracted  by 
news  of  the  big  strike.  He  flashed  a  certified  check  of  a 
cool  $100,000  in  Peter's  eyes,  and  wanted  to  buy  at  that 
figure.  Peter  only  looked  at  Standish  and  smiled,  and  the 
fellow  went  away  quite  discomfited. 

Nearly  every  citizen  of  Plume,  and,  for  that  matter, 
almost  the  entire  population  of  the  gulch,  visited  the  tun 
nel,  and  begged  to  see  the  big  strike.  They  nearly  ex 
hausted  their  ready  funds,  which  Standish  had  earned  in 
Denver,  part  of  it  the  ring  money,  by  a  constant  enter 
tainment  of  friends  and  honest  miners,  who  wished  them 
luck  with  their  great  find.  The  excitement  soon  died 
away,  however,  and  their  visitors  becoming  fewer,  they 

75 


76  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

gladly  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity  to  perfect 
their  future  plans. 

A  representative  of  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.  visited  them 
shortly  after  their  return  from  the  Peak.  They  showed 
him  the  extent  of  the  ore  body,  and  requested  that  he  put 
in  a  siding.  He  promised  to  take  immediate  action,  and 
in  a  few  days  both  men  and  material  arrived  from  Denver, 
and  the  siding  was  put  in. 

A  contract  was  also  made  for  considerable  lumber  and 
timbering,  to  be  used  in  building  an  ore  chute  from  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel  down  to  the  railroad  siding.  Thus 
the  ore  would  slide  down  the  chute  and  into  the  railroad 
cars  by  its  own  gravity.  A  large  crib  was  also  built  below 
the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  and  out  of  the  way  of  the  rail 
road  siding.  It  formed  the  base  of  a  new  dump,  over 
which  the  waste  matter,  the  talc,  rock,  etc.,  would  be 
dropped.  Quantities  of  timbers  would  also  be  used  in  the 
mine,  in  stoping,  which  process  consists  of  building 
a  platform  or  scaffolding  upward  every  few  feet  and 
stopping  the  walls  of  vein  matter,  allowing  it  to  fall  to 
the  bottom  of  the  stope,  thru  an  iron  or  wooden  chute. 
The  ore  would  then  be  separated  from  the  waste  matter, 
and  hauled  in  cars  thru  the  tunnel,  and  dumped  outside 
into  the  ore  chute,  wiiere  it  would  slide  into  the  railroad 
cars  ready  for  shipment.  The  waste  matter  being  run  out 
in  separate  cars,  and  dumped  into  the  gulch,  down  to  the 
huge  wooden  crib  which  served  as  an  anchorage. 

Thraout  the  entire  length  of  the  tunnel  no  timber^  were 
used,  as  it  was  bored  thru  solid  granite,  and  would  prob 
ably  stand  intact,  perhaps  as  long  as  the  mountain  itself. 

Peter's  idea  of  working  the  great  lode  thru  a  tunnel 
was  splendidly  vindicated.  No  machinery  was  needed  at 
this  time  to  operate  the  workings,  save  a  common  blower 
to  furnish  fresh  air.  The  water  flowed  thru  and  out  of 
the  tunnel  seeking  its  level.  The  ore  and  waste  matter 
dropped  from  the  stopes  directly  into  the  cars,  and  were 
then  handled  in  the  economical  manner  as  above  de 
scribed. 

Soon  the  smelter  returns  began  to  come  in  from  their 
first  shipments,  and  Peter  and  Standish  gazed  at  the  gener- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE"         77 

ous  sized  checks  delightedly.  It  was  the  first,  real,  tangible 
evidence  of  their  fortune.  They  offered  them  in  payment 
for  the  timber,  and  for  a  few  supplies  purchased  of  Howard 
&  Co.  They  were  eagerly  accepted,  and  thus  the  last 
bit  of  doubt  which  might  have  existed  in  their  minds  was 
swept  away.  They  possessed  a  fortune  of  as  clean,  pure, 
and  honestly  acquired  wealth  as  was  ever  won  by  two 
determined  men. 

Long  years  afterward,  however,  when  Standish  in 
more  mature  age,  enjoyed  the  use  of  this  almost  unlimited 
wealth,  he  felt  the  effects  of  those  fearful  years  of  toil  in 
the  long  gray  tunnel  of  the  40  Rounds;  and  he  then 
thought  the  reward,  however  great,  was  none  too  much 
for  those  mighty  efforts  of  his  youth. 

Simultaneous  with  their  full  realization  of  the  magni 
tude  of  the  property,  Standish  began  to  study.  He  sent 
to  Denver  for  the  books  he  required,  determined  that  he 
would  master  every  bit  of  information  which  threw  light 
upon  the  subjects  of  assaying,  mining,  and  metallurgy. 

He  was  particularly  anxious  to  master  assaying,  for  with 
a  complete  education  in  that  science,  he  would  at  all  times 
be  able  to  determine  the  value  of  the  ore  they  were  pro 
ducing,  and  thus  be  in  a  position  to  insist  upon  a  fair 
settlement  from  the  smelters. 

Peter  employed  only  a  few  men  at  first.  He  wanted  to 
feel  of  the  proposition  very  carefully,  and  he  only  added 
to  his  force  as  occasion  required.  One  thing,  however,  he 
had  determined  upon  emphatically;  he  intended  to  pay 
the  best  wages  of  any  operator  in  the  district.  Whenever 
he  heard  of  a  raise  of  wages  at  the  other  mines,  he  in 
vestigated  the  report  carefully,  and  if  it  proved  correct, 
up  went  his  wage  scale  accordingly,  and  with  always 
enough  more  to  prove  his  proud  assertion,  that  he  paid 
the  best  wages  in  the  camp. 

It  did  not  take  him  long  to  notice  the  effect  of  this 
policy  among  his  men.  They  proved  diligent  and  loyal, 
and  he  congratulated  himself  that  he  obtained  the  full 
benefit  of  every  raise  as  well  as  they. 

Peter  did  not  forget  to  make  the  old  cabin  more  com 
fortable.  It  was  enlarged  considerably,  and  made  stouter 


78          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

and  warmer.  He  and  Standish  had  always  liked  the  loca 
tion  with  its  unobstructed  view  up  and  down  the  gulch. 
It  was  somewhat  exposed  to  the  sweep  of  snow  and  rock 
slides,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  amply  protected  by  the  thick 
forest  of  tall  pines  and  spruces  above  it. 

Peter  confined  his  own  labors  to  a  daily  inspection  of 
the  mine,  and  he  would  not  allow  Standish  to  spend  too 
much  time  in  the  workings.  The  damp  air,  and  the  chill 
and  wetness  of  the  mine,  were  sure  to  impair  the  health 
of  the  strongest  physique  in  course  of  time;  and  he  felt 
that  his  brave  boy  who  had  already  served  full  time  in 
the  grim  hole,  should  study  now,  and  roam  about  the  hills 
as  much  as  he  pleased. 

Colonel  Rose  came  up  from  Denver  a  few  months  after 
they  commenced  operations.  Being  Peter's  financial 
agent  in  Denver,  he  had  observed  the  rapidly  piling  up 
returns  from  the  property,  and  he  suddenly  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  his  old  comrade  was  really  getting  rich. 

Peter  took  great  delight  in  showing  the  property  to  the 
Colonel  who  was  greatly  impressed  with-  its  wonderful 
riches,  and  before  he  left,  Peter  closed  a  contract  with  him, 
whereby  the  Colonel  was  given  full  power  as  his  financial 
representative  in  the  city.  The  contract  was  to  run  a  year, 
and  was  largely  an  experiment.  Peter  realized  that  he  had 
his  hands  full  in  the  mere  management  of  the  property, 
and  altho  requiring  Standish's  assistance  somewhat  in  the 
management,  yet  he  felt  that  his  son  should  continue  his 
studies  uninterrupted.  The  Colonel  would  be  in  an  excel 
lent  position  to  invest  their  earnings,  and  long  association 
had  proved  him  to  be  a  man  who  could  be  trusted  im 
plicitly. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  day  the  Browns  broke  thru  the  granite  wall  into 
the  long  sought  for  lode  of  the  40  Rounds,  they  penetrated 
a  chamber,  wherein  slept  two  beautiful  virgins. 

Virgin  SILVER.     Virgin  GOLD. 

Sealed  up  in  the  enchanted  castle  of  the  mountain  by 
their  father,  imperious  Plutus,  the  god  of  Riches;  these 
two  beautiful  virgins  had  slept  countless  ages,  waiting  for 
a  brave  prince  to  dissolve  the  spell,  and  set  them  free. 

Bravely  he  had  come.  Courageously  he  had  toiled  to 
ward  them  in  the  bowels  of  the  mountain,  and  at  last  he 
had  rent  their  prison  walls  in  twain.  And  they  waited 
there  in  the  darkness  of  their  chamber,  these  two  fair 
creatures,  for  him  to  lead  them  out  into  the  beautiful 
world.  But  it  really  was  not  a  prince  who  freed  them  thus, 
it  was  that  great  blind  giant,  LABOR. 

The  strong  arm,  striking  the  mighty  blow.  The  blind 
giant  who  'wipes  the  sweat  from  off  his  brow,  and  feeds 
upon  the  poor  husks  which  his  master  chooses  to  give  him. 

Labor  groped  his  way  into  the  great  chamber  where  the 
two  virgins  were  timidly  calling  to  him.  He  heard  their 
cries  and  released  them,  leading  them  from  their  dark 
noisome  prison,  out  into  that  beautiful  bright  world  which 
he  himself  could  not  see. 

Delighted  with  the  fair  prospect,  they  turned  to  thank 
their  benefactor. 

But  Gold  started  at  the  sight  of  Labor,  whose  huge, 
steaming,  sweating  form  was  so  different  from  the  fair 
prince  of  her  dreams.  Ugh!  His  great  hairy  breast, 
freckled,  coarse,  powder-smutted  features,  and  blind,  sight 
less  eyes.  She  looked  at  him  in  disgust,  spat  in  his  face ; 
and  left  him  unthanked,  unrewarded. 

Gold  is  a  wranton. 

Once  released  into  the  gay  world,  she  follows  the 
pleasure  path  of  the  courtesan.  She  tries,  not  by  sweet  art, 

79 


80          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

to  win  the  prize  of  beauty  among  the  fair  children  of 
Plutus.  That  which  she  can  not  win  by  her  grace  and 
beauty,  she  seduces  by  exposing  her  voluptuous  charms  to 
kindle  the  flame  of  lust.  Cruel,  cunning,  unholy  as  a 
vampire  she  treads  the  world,  casting  off  her  old  lovers 
indifferently,  and  languishing  shamelessly  in  the  arms  of 
the  new. 

Gold,  the  insidious  seducer  of  classic  Greece. 

Gold,  the  bold  courtesan  of  mighty  Rome. 

Gold,  the  base  betrayer  of  fair  Florence. 

All  of  which,  at  one  time,  were  clean,  pure  republics. 
Solon,  replaced  by  Phillip  of  Macedonia.  Cincinnatus,  by 
Nero.  Dante,  by  the  Medicis. 

Insidious,  corrupting,  baleful,  Gold. 

Thou,  base,  lecherous  vampire  of  fair  republics.  Art 
thou  to  suck  the  life  blood  and  honor  from  our  own  great 
republic?  These  United  States  of  America? 

Within  our  borders  millionaires  have  succeeded  the 
possessors  of  mere  thousands.  Billionaires  are  about  to 
succeed  millionaires. 

At  what  time  will  your  remorseless  jaws  close  with  satia 
tion,  oh,  Gold? 

When  will  the  republic  cease,  the  Caesars  reign? 

In  the  words  of  the  prophet,  "  How  long,  oh,  Lord,  how 
long?" 

And  so  Gold,  the  wanton  one,  exulting  in  her  freedom, 
flitted  away  into  the  world  to  satisfy  her  unholy  desires, 
and  wreak  upon  her  victims  the  venom  of  her  hatred. 

Silver,  however,  looked  pityingly  tearful  into  the  sight 
less  eyes  of  Labor.  She  was  filled  with  unutterable  thanks 
for  her  freedom,  and  kneeling  down,  she  reverently  kissed 
his  great  hardened  hand,  sweetly  saying  as  she  did  so, 
"Consider  me  always  your  friend,  my  hero." 

The  great  giant  trembled,  his  sightless  eyes  rolled  pain 
fully  in  their  red  sockets  as  he  felt  the  press  of  her  warm 
lips  upon  his  hand.  He  struggled  to  articulate  some  word 
in  response.  He  knew  it  was  the  Lady  of  the  Silver  Robes, 
for  he  had  heard  her  voice  sounding  from  the  depths  of 
the  enchanted  chamber  as  clear  as  a  gently  tinkling  bell, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          81 

saying,  "Ah !  kind  sir.  I  am  Silver,  release  me,  and  I  will 
fill  the  world  with  peace  and  plenty." 

Gold's  voice  was  so  different,  it  had  an  insidious  serpen 
tine  smoothness,  which  terrified  as  it  also  charmed. 

The  inspiring  words  of  Silver  thrilled  the  giant  form 
of  Labor.  His  despairing  soul  was  filled  with  the  great 
hope,  that  this  fair  virgin  whom  he  had  thus  released  from 
the  dark  chamber  of  the  mountain,  would  fill  the  world 
with  a  bounteous  flood  of  plenty,  and  his  children  would 
be  made  forever  free  and  happy. 

She  would  feed  the  starving;  she  would  keep  the  great 
mills  turning;  she  would  sow  the  barren  naked  fields  of 
the  whole  world  with  life-giving  grain,  whose  rich  harvests 
would  yield  great  joy  and  sustenance  to  all  mankind. 
Labor  felt  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  great  emancipa 
tor.  She  who  would  carry  the  magic  horn  of  Plenty,  and 
would  fill  to  overflowing  e'en  the  humblest  dwelling  of  the 
poor.  And  that  men  would  rise  up  and  sing  glad  anthems 
in  her  name. 

Filled  with  this  great  joy,  he  at  last  found  speech. 

"Believe  me,  fair  one,  I  accept  your  friendship,  thus  so 
sweetly  bestowed.  And  with  these  strong  arms  I  shall  ever 
defend  and  champion  your  cause."  And  as  he  spoke,  his 
great  chest  heaved  with  emotion,  and  the  muscles  of  his 
mighty  arms  swelled  in  enormous  knots. 

"I  leave  you  then,  my  hero,  to  see  the  world;  and  if — 
if  my  mission  is  misunderstood,  and  I  meet  with  misfor 
tune,  I  shall  certainly  return  and  seek  your  protection, 
and  bide  my  time  for  the  ultimate  triumph  of  my  cause." 
And  flitting  away,  she  too  sought  the  confines  of  the  great 
world,  while  Labor  returned  to  his  hole  in  the  mountain, 
and  once  more  toiled  beneath  the  lash  of  the  master. 

Far  and  wide  the  two  fair  daughters  of  Plutus  traveled 
out  into  the  teeming  world.  Until,  upon  the  shores  of  the 
great  blue  ocean  they  met  a  Potentate.  It  was  POWER, 
lord  of  a  mighty  Nation. 

Seeing  his  great  palace  and  vast  wealth,  Gold  made  love 
to  him. 

Silver  passed  them  one  day  as  they  strolled  along  the 
beach.  Power  cast  a  lustful  eye  upon  her  tender  form, 


82  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

and  Gold,  perceiving  it,  became  jealous.  She  could  brook 
no  rival  in  the  affections  of  Power  even  tho  that  rival  be 
her  own  fair,  innocent  sister,  Silver.  She,  who  came  from 
the  same  vault  of  the  mountain,  where  they  had  both  lain 
side  by  side  thru  all  the  remote  ages.  Yea,  both  conceived 
in  the  womb  of  the  same  mother  and  sired  by  the  same 
father.  Silver  and  Gold,  the  twin  sisters,  the  fair  offspring 
of  the  same  illustrious  parents. 

So  terrible  now  became  the  jealousy  of  Gold,  that  she 
deemed  the  broad  expanse  of  the  Nation  itself,  too  small, 
to  hold  her  fair  sister. 

And  one  fatal  night,  in  that  Palace  by  the  Sea,  Gold 
seduced  Power,  he  who  was  the  sovereign  of  a  mighty 
nation;  and  even  then,  not  satisfied  with  her  shameless 
conquest,  she  poisoned  his  heart  against  her  fair  sister. 
And  together,  the  guilty  pair  persecuted  Silver,  and  drove 
her  from  the  distant  East  seeking  shelter  in  the  bosom  of 
the  Great  Hills  of  the  West. 

One  day,  as  Labor  emerged  from  the  black  hole  of  Toil, 
to  bask  a  moment  in  the  sun,  rolling  up  his  sightless  eyes 
to  the  throne  of  his  Maker  imploring  rest  and  peace,  he 
felt  a  soft  hand  thrust  confidingly  into  his,  and  a  gentle 
voice  spoke  to  him,  which  he  instantly  recognized  as  that 
of  the  Lady  of  the  Silver  Robes. 

"Ah,  kind  sir,"  she  said,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "I  have 
been  driven  from  the  Court  of  the  Nation  by  Power  and 
Gold,  and  I  am  forced  to  seek  that  protection  which  you 
once  so  nobly  pledged  me  in  that  long  ago." 

"And  you  shall  have  it,  fair  one,"  roared  the  blind  and 
indignant  giant  in  thunderous  tones,  which  shook  the  very 
vitals  of  the  Nation,  and  which  made  Power  and  Gold 
fairly  tremble  in  that  Palace  by  the  Sea. 

And  that  is  why,  gentle  reader,  that  the  Lady  of  the 
Silver  Robes  liveth  in  the  sheltering  bosom  of  Labor,  the 
great  blind  giant  of  the  Nation.  That  is  why  the  people 
of  the  Great  Hills  love  and  cherish  the  Silver  Queen.  That 
is  also  why  she  rests,  "until  death  do  us  part,"  in  the  warm, 
red  blooded  heart  of  the  shining  West,  never  to  be  removed 
save  to  be  crowned  mid  the  proud  acclaim  of  the  Nation, 
Queen  of  Peace  and  Plenty. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  83 

Mistress  Gold  still  sways  the  Potentate  of  Power  in  the 
far  East,  in  that  Palace  by  the  Sea.  But  fair  Silver,  dwel 
ling  in  tiie  humble  cot  of  Labor,  waits  patiently  for  the 
day  of  her  coming  glory.  When  the  great  teeming  Nation 
shall  burst  the  shackles  of  unholy  Power  and  Gold,  and 
crown  the  Silver  Queen. 

Gold  to  the  Select. 

Silver  to  the  Common. 

Nectar  for  the  Caesars. 

Bread  for  the  Masses. 

"  Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit,  for  theirs  is  the  King 
dom  of  Heaven," 


BOOK  THREE 

THE  CROSS  AMONG  THE  PINES 


CHAPTER  I 

DURING  the  five  years  which  followed  the  great 
strike  in  the  tunnel  of  the  40  Rounds,  Peter 
Brown's  dream  of  wealth  had  been  fully  realized, 
but  in  the  enjoyment  of  that  wealth  he  had  found  himself 
in  a  similar  condition  as  a  brakeman  who  was  employed 
on  the  railroad  which  ran  thru  his  old  home  town,  back  in 
Iowa. 

It  seems  that  a  number  of  railroad  men  gathered  in  a 
little  grocery  store  at  the  division  point,  were  earnestly 
discussing  what  they  would  do  if  they  should  suddenly 
become  possessed  of  great  wealth.  Each  had  related  in 
glowing  terms  how  he  would  spend  the  money,  all  of 
them  more  or  less  extravagantly.  When  it  came  the  brake- 
man's  turn,  however,  to  air  his  views  as  a  spender,  his 
eyes  fairly  glittered  with  excitement,  and  the  crowd 
pressed  forward  eagerly  to  catch  his  words,  as  he  related 
the  wonderful  manner  in  which  he  would  spend  his  imagi 
native  wealth.  Looking  longingly  across  the  counter  of 
the  grocery  store  at  the  contents  of  a  shelf,  he  said  yearn 
ingly,  "By  gosh,  boys,  I'd  have  all  the  cove  oysters  that 
I  wanted  to  eat,  for  once  in  my  life." 

So  it  was  with  Peter.  Having  formed  habits  of  the 
greatest  simplicity  thru  all  the  long  years  of  his  poverty, 
it  was  absolutely  impossible  for  him  to  spend  an  income 
much  beyond  that  of  the  ordinary  wage  earner.  He  con 
sidered  himself  too  old  to  build  railroads,  or  engage  in 
those  several  other  enterprises  which  in  his  youth  had 
greatly  attracted  him,  and  he  could  not  see  why  he  should 
take  the  time  and  money  to  build  an  elaborate  residence 

85 


86          THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

in  Plume.  The  truth  was,  that  he  did  not  propose  to 
be  coaxed  away  from  the  mine.  It  was  his  life,  his  very 
existence.  Altho  his  bright  mind  reveled  in  the  great 
world  of  thought,  and  while  he  was  truly  a  philosopher,  a 
great  reader,  and  an  eager  investigator  of  all  the  phenom 
ena  of  life;  yet  he  chose  to  dwell  largely  within  himself, 
and  in  the  management  of  the  mine  he  found  an  abun 
dant  field  for  both  physical  and  mental  activity. 

Down  in  Denver  a  large  hoard  was  piling  up.  On  the 
first  of  each  year  Peter  visited  Colonel  Rose,  and  examined 
and  adjusted  the  past  year's  finances.  He  required  the 
Colonel  to  give  him  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  services  ren 
dered,  and  they  started  each  year  with  a  clean  balance 
sheet.  Investments  he  had  left  almost  entirely  to  the 
Colonel's  judgment  and  discretion. 

At  their  last  settlement  the  Colonel  had  handed  him  a 
large  bundle  of  bonds,  stocks,  deeds,  mortgages,  etc.,  for 
his  examination.  Peter  had  dubiously  turned  the  bundle 
over  in  his  hands  for  a  moment,  and  handing  it  back  had 
said,  "Sorry  I  can't  accommodate  you,  Colonel,  but  I 
don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  all  this.  I  have  your 
word  that  the  stuff  is  good,  so  let  it  go  at  that." 

The  Colonel  had  maintained  the  strictest  care  in  render 
ing  his  annual  report,  and  Peter  had  at  all  times  an  ac 
curate  record  of  his  various  investments;  their  original 
cost,  present  value,  etc.,  together  with  a  memorandum  of 
all  cash  balances  due  and  deposited  with  the  various  banks. 

The  last  time  that  he  had  taken  the  train  back  to  Plume 
after  his  annual  settlement  with  the  Colonel,  he  leaned 
back  in  the  coach  seat  and  said  to  himself,  "  All  —  all  for 
the  boy.  Mebbe  in  the  distant  future  he  will  conceive 
some  great  work  to  do.  If  he  does,  well,  he's  got  the 
money."  Musing  thus,  the  old  veteran  had  added,  "  And 
the  beauty  of  it  is,  that  he's  really  made  the  most  of  it 
himself,  for  I  wan't  of  much  account." 

In  the  sixth  year  of  the  development  of  the  40  Rounds 
since  the  great  strike  in  the  tunnel,  Peter  was  confronted 
by  many  important  questions  in  the  further  development 
of  the  property. 

For  several  years  the  management  had  been  compara- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  87 

lively  simple.  It  had  only  been  a  question  of  extracting  the 
ore,  dumping  it  into  the  railroad  cars,  and  shipping  it 
to  the  smelters  in  Denver.  Merely  extracting  the  meat 
from  one  cell  of  a  colossal  nut.  But  now  they  had  nearly 
exhausted  the  contents  of  that  cell.  They  must  reach  out 
and  discover  new  cells,  and  extract  the  meat  as  before. 
This  process  of  discovering,  reaching  out,  and  exploiting 
for  new  ore  bodies,  is  called  development  work;  and  in 
every  well  managed  property  is  constantly  going  on,  and 
altho  absorbing  considerable  of  the  mine's  earnings,  never 
theless  usually  brings  a  splendid  return  for  the  outlay. 

A  few  weeks  after  his  last  annual  settlement  trip  to 
the  city,  Peter  entered  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  intending 
to  visit  some  of  the  old  abandoned  workings,  to  see  if 
they  were  really  exhausted  as  had  been  reported  by  the 
foreman. 

Occasionally  a  vein  contracts,  or  "pinches  out"  as  the 
miners  say,  from  its  usual  width;  and  narrowing  to  a 
mere  few  inches,  sometimes  becomes  completely  exhausted. 

Several  days  previous,  Peter  had  instructed  the  mine 
foreman  to  explode  a  blast  at  a  certain  point  in  one  of 
the  abandoned  levels  where  the  vein  had  thus  suddenly 
pinched  out.  The  foreman  having  exploded  the  blast 
as  directed,  Peter  intended  upon  this  trip  of  inspection 
to  note  the  result. 

Lighting  a  candle  and  stuffing  several  in  his  pocket,  he 
walked  the  length  of  the  tunnel,  and  at  the  end  he  turned 
abruptly  to  the  right,  into  a  big  "drift,"  a  passage  along 
the  vein  from  which  the  ore  has  been  extracted.  Follow 
ing  this  drift  for  some  distance  he  arrived  at  a  ladder 
which  led  to  the  upper  levels  of  that  portion  of  the  mine. 

As  he  laboriously  climbed  the  long  ladder  all  wet  and 
slimy  from  the  constant  seepage  of  the  water  and  the 
ooze  of  the  soft  vein  matter,  he  vowed  that  he  would  im 
mediately  equip  the  mine  with  a  steam  hoist  to  reach  from 
the  tunnel  to  the  old  abandoned  shaft  above.  It  was 
indeed,  becoming  a  positive  necessity.  It  would  greatly 
increase  the  ventilation  of  the  property,  be  a  great  con 
venience  to  his  force  of  men,  and  would  bring  a  sure 
return  for  the  outlay  by  greatly  increasing  the  production 


88  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  the  property.  The  long  hours,  and  the  consequent 
exhaustion,  which  the  men  took  in  ascending  and  descend 
ing  the  long  ladders  to  and  from  their  work  would  be 
applied  to  mining  instead,  and  it  would  he  far  more 
economical  to  equip  the  mine  with  a  modern  hoist  and 
employ  a  competent  engineer,  than  to  throw  away  any 
more  money  on  this  old  fashioned  ladder  proposition. 

Peter  soon  reached  the  second  level,  and  resting,  lighted 
his  pipe.  He  wished  that  he  had  brought  Standish  with 
him,  but  he  had  left  him  at  the  cottage  absorbed  in  a 
book  and  he  had  hated  to  disturb  him.  After  heavy 
exertions  he  finally  reached  the  seventh  level,  thus  he 
had  climbed  six  hundred  feet  up  the  rickety  wet  ladders, 
a  hundred  feet  at  a  time,  and  he  stood  there  puffing 
loudly  from  his  exertions.  Yes,  he  would  wire  Denver 
tomorrow  for  that  hoist.  How  ridiculous  to  tire  an  old 
man  like  this,  who  merely  wants  to  inspect  a  portion  of 
his  mine.  Recovering  both  his  humor  and  breath 
however,  he  walked  to  the  far  end  of  the  drift  toward 
the  point  where  the  blast  had  been  exploded.  The  bot 
tom  of  the  drift  was  covered  with  several  inches  of  water 
and  mud,  and  it  was  with  much  difficulty  that  he  could 
plow  his  way  thru  the  sticky  mass. 

Again  he  thought,  "I  wish  I  had  sent  the  boy,  he  could 
have  done  this  nasty  job  much  better  than  I." 

How  rarely  do  men  recognize  old  age,  when  it  really 
begins  to  lay  its  heavy  hand  upon  them.  The  keen 
thought  of  youth  still  sparkles  in  their  souls,  with  scarcely 
the  least  comprehension  that  the  poor  old  body  is  begin 
ning  to  fail.  The  stiffened  joints,  the  nerveless  fingers, 
the  weary  back,  fail  most  signally  to  continue  their  for 
mer  agility.  Yet  a  man  rarely  acknowledges  it.  His 
bouyant  thought  seems  surprised  as  the  infirm  body  fails 
to  perform  its  usual  functions.  And  in  such  a  plight, 
and  finally  acknowledging  the  great  change,  the  old  man 
smiles  a  weak  pathetic  smile,  sighs  heavily,  saying  to 
himself  with  a  dubious  shake  of  his  head,  "You're  getting 
old,  my  boy."  How  tenaciously  youth  still  clings.  "My 
boy,"  uttered  by  an  old  man  speaking  of  himself.  And 
again,  agile  protesting  thought  rushes  him  forward,  and 


89 

again  he  weakens  and  falls.  And  thus  old  age  cruelly 
settles  down  upon  him,  until  often  thought  itself  becomes 
infirm.  Soon  his  atmosphere  becomes  wholly  frigid. 
He  finally  ceases  to  think  youthfully  altogether.  The 
snow  land  of  the  long  weary  years  slowly  fills  his  soul. 
Hoary,  white  haired  old  age,  ne  is  only  waiting  to  die. 
The  vital  forces  gradually  become  clogged,  and — exit, 
the  old  man's  life  has  fled. 

Now  Peter  was  beginning  to  feel  his  infirmities  sorely. 
He  regretted  that  he  had  undertaken  this  fatiguing  trip. 
But  on  he  went,  and  having  once  resolved  upon  a  hoist, 
he  now  vowed  that  this  would  be  his  last  trip  into  this 
great  slimy  intestine  of  the  mountain.  Was  it  a 
prophecy  ? 

"Yes,"  he  thought,  "the  office  was  the  place  for  him 
now.  The  bright  sunlight,  the  warm  fire,  his  big  chair, 
and  his  dear  old  violin.  What  a  fool  he  was  to  come 
up  here.  Standish  would  reprove  him  when  he  found 
it  out.  Then  he  thought  of  the  six  hundred  feet  that 
he  would  have  to  crawl  down  again  to  reach  the  tunnel. 
He  hesitated.  He  would  turn  back.  But  no,  he  was 
nearly  there.  He  would  see  the  deal  thru,  now  that  he 
had  undertaken  it. 

His  candle  was  burning  low  by  this  time.  He  took 
another  from  his  pocket  and  lit  it.  A  few  feet  ahead  of 
him  he  could  distinguish  a  heap  of  debris  which  partially 
choked  the  drift.  It  was  undoubtedly  the  result  of  the 
blast.  He  could  also  distinguish  the  pick  which  he  had 
instructed  the  foreman  to  leave,  as  he  would  probably 
have  to  pick  around  a  bit  in  the  course  of  his  examination. 

The  vein  at  the  point  where  the  blast  had  been  exploded, 
had  suddenly  contracted  to  the  width  of  a  couple  of 
fingers,  and  the  men  had  ceased  work,  thinking  that  it 
would  not  pay  to  blast  out  several  feet  of  solid  granite  to 
obtain  a  mere  inch  of  ore. 

Peter  had  conceived  the  idea,  however,  that  the  vein 
might  widen  with  another  shot  or  two,  and  reveal  a  new 
ore  body. 

After  carefully  inspecting  the  debris  dropped  by  the 
blast,  he  thrust  the  candle  into  a  chink  of  the  wall. 


90  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

"  By  jinks!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly,  his  eyes  gleaming 
with  all  the  ardor  of  a  veteran  miner,  "I  believe  its 
widening." 

Carried  away  by  his  excitement,  he  seized  the  pick  and 
crawled  over  the  pile  of  fallen  debris,  thrusting  himself 
into  the  little  pocket  which  lay  between  the  breast  of 
the  drift  and  the  pile  of  material  brought  down  by  the 
blast. 

"  Good  ore,  too,"  he  muttered,  picking  up  a  piece  of 
glittering  quartz.  Curling  up  in  his  narrow  quarters, 
he  dropped  some  hot  wax  from  the  candle  upon  a  piece 
of  fallen  granite  lying  on  top  of  the  pile  of  debris  and 
stuck  the  candle  into  it.  Then  with  his  back  to  the  breast 
of  the  drift  and  his  face  turned  toward  the  candle,  he 
grasped  the  pick  and  began  to  pry  off  a  tempting  piece 
of  ore  which  hung  from  the  roof  of  the  drift  at  his  right 
side.  He  exerted  himself  heavily  in  the  work.  It  was 
loosening.  Soon  it  fell.  Picking  it  up,  he  thrust  himself 
slightly  forward  toward  the  candle  light  in  order  to  more 
closely  examine  it.  As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  dull  slipping 
sound.  He  started  to  turn,  but  was  instantly  pinned 
down  by  an  enormous  mass  of  debris  which  fell  from 
the  walls  and  roof  of  the  drift.  The  constant  percolation 
of  the  water  had  loosened  the  mass,  and  the  jarring  blows 
of  the  pick  had  finally  felled  it. 

The  old  man  uttered  a  fearful  shriek. 

Carried  away  by  the  ardor  of  his  investigation,  he  had 
deliberately  crawled  into  a  trap. 

Fortunately  the  candle  did  not  go  out  as  it  was  placed 
too  far  forward.  The  draught  of  air  made  by  the  falling 
mass  had  nearly  snuffed  it,  but  the  flame  finally  held. 

The  unfortunate  man  now  lay  upon  his  stomach  with 
his  face  within  a  foot  of  the  candle.  His  legs  and  body 
as  far  up  as  his  navel  were  completely  covered  and 
crushed.  They  lay  under  tons  of  rock  and  vein  matter 
and  his  situation  was  absolutely  desperate. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  agonizing 
thoughts  which  filled  the  old  veteran's  mind.  He  had 
passed  thru  the  war  with  the  Brigade.  He  had  fought 
at  Donelson,  Shiloh,  Vicksburg,  and  Lookout  Mountain; 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          91 

and  at  Atlanta,  on  that  fearful  Twenty-second  of  July, 
1864,  where  the  Brigade  had  fought  on  both  sides  of  the 
breastworks,  he  had  received  a  bad  wound.  Always  fac 
ing  death  upon  the  battlefield,  he  was  always  prepared 
for  it  there.  He  had  laughed  in  its  face  a  thousand  times. 
So  often  had  he  heard  the  song  of  the  deadly  minnie 
ball  and  the  death  dealing  shell  as  they  plowed  thru  the 
ranks  of  the  Blue,  that  ne  paid  no  more  attention  to 
them  than  the  reaper  pays  to  the  cut  of  the  scythe  thru 
the  wheat. 

But  here,  in  this  wet  slimy  bowel  of  the  mountain,  he 
was  quite  unprepared  for  the  worst.  The  suddenness  of 
his  calamity  was  awful.  It  was  terrible  to  think  that 
this  might  indeed  be  death. 

At  first  the  old  veteran  squealed  in  his  fearful  mental 
agony,  as  rats  do  when  suddenly  caught  in  the  jaws  of 
a  steel  trap,  and  his  agonizing  cries  echoed  dully  in  the 
black  vault  of  the  mountain.  His  arms,  however,  tho 
badly  squeezed,  were  partially  free.  Wildly  he  tried  to 
release  himself.  His  hat  fell  off,  and  his  long  gray  locks 
and  flushed  face,  all  smeared  by  the  slime  of  the  wet 
ro'cks,  looked  terrible  in  the  dim  light  of  the  candle. 

After  the  first  desperate  struggles  and  squealings  of 
the  old  man  had  ceased,  he  became  horribly  conscious  of 
the  absolute  certainty  of  his  fate,  and  he  began  to  emit 
a  fearful  maniacal  laughter.  All  these  paroxysms,  being 
merely  the  animal  like  manifestations  of  the  infallible 
law  of  self  preservation.  The  screams  and  struggles  of 
the  victim  were  now  almost  instantly  succeeded  by  his 
pitiful  moans,  as  the  circulation  of  the  blood  began  to 
cease  in  his  legs  and  lower  body.  Of  all  physical  agonies, 
none  can  exceed  such  a  pain.  It  is  invariably  followed 
by  delirium  and  unconsciousness. 

Peter's  reason  now  began  to  assert  itself  in  spite  of  his 
horrible  situation.  He  knew  that  he  would  soon  be  un 
conscious,  and  he  also  knew  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  any  human  being  to  hear  his  cries,  as  the  men  were 
too  far  distant  in  other  levels  of  the  mine. 

Yes,  this  must  be  death. 

His  one  thought  then,  was  for  the  living,  for  Standish. 


92          THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

He  would  write  a  letter.  It  was  all  he  could  do  now; 
to  write  a  few  lines,  and  then  to  die. 

He  did  not  need  to  write  the  manner  of  his  death. 
When  they  found  his  body  they  would  know  all. 

With  his  right  hand  he  managed  to  pull  out  his  note 
book  from  his  upper  vest  pocket,  and  with  it  a  pencil. 
His  mind  was  wonderfully  clear  now.  These  few  mo 
ments  were  pitifully  precious.  A  few  precious  atoms  of 
time,  in  which  to  write  a  few  last  words  to  his  dearly 
beloved  son. 

Painfully  opening  the  book,  he  placed  a  piece  of  ore 
upon  one  side  of  it  to  hold  it  open,  and  then  he  proceeded 
to  write  upon  the  other.  This  was  the  letter: 

"  0,  dearly  beloved,  adorable,  faithful  son,  good-bye.  I  press 
your  lips  for  the  last  time.  I  embrace  you.  If  you  have  ever 
seen  good  in  me,  remember  me  for  it.  I  may  be  dead  forever. 
The  Bible  is  not  always  clear  about  the  hereafter.  But  I  know 
that  I  am  immortal  in  you.  All  fathers  and  mothers  continue 
to  live  immortal  in  their  children,  if  not  in  them,  in  their  friends. 
I  have  found  in  life,  that  the  individual  is  the  supreme  effort. 
This  effort  inspires  other  individuals.  From  father  to  son.  Stand 
ing  upon  me,  dear  son,  you  must  try  to  attain  and  do  the  things 
I  could  not  do.  To  endeavor,  to  try.  It  is  the  highest.  It  is  the 
grand  symphony  of  Life." 

The  pain  was  fast  dimming  his  senses  now.  Still  did 
his  brave  soul  battle  on  grappling  fiercely  with  Death. 

A  most  divine  thing  is  this  death-defying  sublimnity 
of  the  soul. 

The  body  may  scream,  may  writhe  in  anguish;  but 
the  soul,  fearless  and  undaunted,  sings  its  triumphant 
song,  e'en  while  the  death  rattle  sounds  harsh  within  the 
shattered  frame. 

He  would  write  a  few  more  precious  words. 

Oh !  God !    How  short  the  time. 

His  fingers  were  purpling,  and  he  put  the  very  vitals 
vitals  of  his  fast  expiring  life  into  his  shaking  hand. 

He  saw  Calvary.  He  saw  the  shining  face  of  his 
Master. 

He  would  write  the  sublime  words. 

Nav!— Yes! 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          93 

A  last,  supreme,  agonizing  struggle,  with  his  soul 
spreading  its  wings  for  distant  realms,  he  wrote: 

"  I  die  a  Christian." 

The  pencil  fell  from  his  nerveless  hand. 

Victory !    Consecration !    BLISS. 

As  his  dying  eyes  bulged  from  their  sockets  under  the 
awful  pressure  of  the  mass  which  had  engulfed  him,  they 
saw  revealed  in  the  short  sweep  of  their  vision,  a  great 
mass  of  shining  ore.  Hanging  from  the  roof  above  him, 
it  was  slowly  settling,  ready  to  fall.  Old  Peter  Brown 
would  be  buried  in  a  grave  of  precious  gold  in  the  midst 
of  his  great  mine. 

Gold  is  the  price  of  human  blood. 

And  here,  still  another  victim  to  feed  its  hideous  maw. 

Frail  human  life  may  expire,  but  gold,  the  imperish 
able  metal,  lives  on  forever. 

Salt  crusted  and  embrined  in  the  vast  silent  caverns 
of  the  sea,  the  barnacled  hoard  of  countless  wrecks  and 
great  ships  gone  down  in  the  awful  Deep;  stored  away 
in  the  massive  vaults  of  national  treasuries;  piled  up  in 
the  strong  boxes  of  the  Princes  of  Mammon ;  hoarded  in 
the  stockings  of  the  miser;  and  hanging  as  succulent 
grapes  in  virgin  clusters  within  the  bowels  of  the  moun 
tains,  Gold  is  the  price  of  human  blood. 

Gold,  pleasure  seeking.     Gold,  militant. 

The  inspiration  of  the  ancient  Argonauts. 

The  tempting  apple  of  Hesperides. 

The  conquering  trafficer  of  the  Phoenicians. 

The  flaming  torch  shining  from  the  Heights  of  Ophir. 

The  yellow  finger  beckoning  to  the  dauntless  Columbus. 

The  bloody  mistress  of  Coronado. 

The  dancing  demon  of  the  cruel  Pizarro. 

The  god  of  Wall  Street. 

Gold,  the  supreme  vampire. 

Gold,  the  greatest  of  the  Borgias,  the  adept  of  all  pois 
oners. 

Gold !  Gold !  Thou  art  a  monster,  thou  base  metal 
god  of  weak  and  unholy  men.  Thou  art  the  supreme 
human  tempter.  The  cause  of  man's  blackest  vileness, 
his  greatest  unholiest  efforts. 


94  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Gold!  Gold!  Thou  art  the  abhorred  infinite  addition, 
the  endless  multiplication,  the  arch  summing  up  and 
extreme  Luciferian  calculus  of  human  existence. 

And  yet,  Oh  Gold!  Even  as  we  curse  thee.  Oh,  the 
wonders  and  the  miracles  thou  hast  wrought  in  the  world 
of  men.  Tempting  them,  thou  hast  also  raised  and 
glorified  them,  as  thou  hast  also  felled  and  ruined  them. 


The  dying  eyes  of  Peter  Brown  showed  dimly  in  the 
candle  light.  The  slowly  settling  mass  of  ore  and  rock 
was  remorselessly  crushing  out  his  life. 

It  forced  out  his  tongue.  The  blood,  squeezed  from  his 
body,  colored  his  face  to  the  purpleness  of  a  beet. 

"Swish— slush." 

Another  tottering  mass  of  ore  slid  down.  With  it  fell 
quantities  of  soft  talc  and  vein  matter,  which,  mixing 
with  the  water,  gradually  spread.  Slowly  it  enveloped 
the  dying  man's  face.  Then  it  covered  it.  It  spread  on 
over  the  book.  It  reached  the  candle.  Another  slushy 
mass  dropped.  The  candle  was  extinguished,  and  with 
it  a  human  life. 

DEATH. 

The  annihilation  of  Birth. 

A  Mystery  swallowing  a  Mystery. 

A  noiseless  thing,  falling  into  an  eternal  silence. 

The  final  chronicle  of  man. 

Birth,  a  mystery. — Death,  a  mystery. 

Mystery,  the  Beginning  and  the  End. 

The  Alpha  and  the  Omega  of  human  existence. 

The  total. 

The  SUM. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  dusk  looked  in  on  Standish.  He  threw  down  his 
book  and  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  nearly  supper 
time. 

He  went  out  doors.  The  sun  had  disappeared  behind 
the  Peak  and  a  sublime  cloud  effect  was  displaying  itself. 
A  train  of  ore  cars  emerged  from  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel 
nearby,  drawn  by  a  little  fat  burro  driven  by  a  happy 
gay  singing  lad.  Three  of  the  cars  were  emptied  into 
the  ore  chute,  and  the  heavy  ore  went  tumbling  down 
with  a  rush  and  a  roar  into  the  railroad  cars  on  the  siding. 
The  other  cars,  filled  with  waste  matter,  were  switched 
on  the  dump  line  and  their  contents  dumped  into  the 
gulch. 

Mechanically  the  lad  coupled  up  the  train  of  tiny  cars, 
and  drove  back  into  the  tunnel. 

"  Everything  O.  K.,"  thought  Standish.  Shep  came 
running  up  and  danced  about  his  master's  feet.  Standish 
petted  him  and  yawned.  He  had  been  so  absorbed  in 
the  book,  that  he  had  read  until  he  was  sleepy.  He  went 
into  the  cottage  and  started  supper.  Peter  usually  got 
the  supper,  but  when  he  was  not  there,  Standish  started 
the  meal  at  the  usual  hour.  These  two  hermits  were  so 
accustomed  to  each  other's  habits,  that  when  one  was 
away,  the  other  took  hold  of  the  household  work  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

At  six  o'clock  the  night  shift  came  on.  The  night 
foreman  came  in  and  reported,  and  went  into  the  mine. 
A  few  minutes  later  the  day  shift  came  out,  and  the  day 
foreman  came  in  and  reported.  As  he  turned  to  leave, 
Standish  said: 

"  Oh,  say,  Nelson,  seen  anything  of  dad?" 

"Not  today,  sir,"  Nelson  replied.  But  as  he  reached 
the  door  he  suddenly  stopped.  "Oh,  yes,  Mr.  Brown,  he 
told  me  yesterday  that  he  was  going  up  on  the  seventh 

95 


96  THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

level  to  see  how  that  blast  came  out.  He  and  I  bet  the 
cigars  on  the  deal.  Dad  bet  me  that  the  lode  would 
widen  instead  of  pinching  out." 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  replied  Standish. 

The  supper  was  ready.  Standish  waited  impatiently, 
many  thoughts  beginning  to  agitate  his  mind. 

"Why  don't  dad  come?  I  wonder  if  he  really  did  go 
clear  up  to  the  seventh  level.  By  Jove!  He's  got  to 
stop  this  kind  of  business.  He's  too  old  and  infirm  for 
such  work.  Its  perfect  foolishness  for  him  to  go  into  the 
mine.  I  could  just  as  well  have  done  it  for  him." 

The  cottage  was  connected  by  telephone  with  the  public 
station  in  the  postoffice  at  Plume.  Standish  rang  up  and 
had  the  operator  send  a  messenger  boy  for  Mr.  Howard 
at  the  supply  store.  Soon  the  bell  rang  and  Standish 
went  to  the  'phone. 

"Hello?  That  you,  Howard?  Say,  has  dad  been 
down  to  the  store  today?  Not  today?  All  right.  Much 
obliged.  Good-bye." 

Standish  hung  up  the  receiver.  The  supper  was  getting 
cold  and  he  could  not  eat  it  alone.  Shep  looked  up 
wonderingly  into  his  master's  face  as  he  sat  disconsolate 
by  the  fire.  Standish  was  as  much  disturbed  as  a  little 
child  who  comes  home  from  kindergarten  and  finds  its 
mother  is  away. 

"My  God!  Do  you  suppose — No!  It  can  not  be!" 
he  exclaimed  suddenly,  as  a  terrible  thought  flashed 
thru  his  mind.  Starting  to  his  feet,  he  fixed  the  fire, 
turned  down  the  light,  and  seizing  his  hat  he  rushed 
out  of  doors,  followed  by  Shep  who  leaped  and  danced 
gayly  in  front  of  him. 

Rushing  into  the  tunnel,  he  took  up  several  candles 
at  the  entrance,  but  he  did  not  light  one  then,  as  he  could 
see  dimly  by  the  light  from  the  ore  train  ahead  of  him. 
He  soon  overtook  the  train  which  was  well  advanced  into 
the  tunnel  going  for  another  load.  Shep  was  snapping 
at  the  heels  of  his  old  friend,  Buster,  the  burro. 

"  Howdy,  Johnnie,"  said  Standish  to  the  boy  driver, 
"Can't  stop  this  time,"  and  on  he  rushed. 

Johnnie  looked  thoughtfully  after  his  retreating  form. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE          97 

"Young  boss  is  in  a  hurry  tonight,  wonder  what's  up. 
Get-ap  there,  Buster,  you  old  slow  poke,"  he  said,  hitting 
the  burro  a  whack  with  a  heavy  pine  slab  upon  a  spot 
upon  the  animal's  hip  from  which  all  the  hair  was  worn 
off,  and  which  was  hardened  like  a  piece  of  sole  leather 
by  frequent  whacks  of  clubs,  shovel  handles,  crowbars, 
and  various  other  handy  instruments  of  persuasion.  And 
momentarily  roused  by  the  sound  of  this  gentle  "tapping- 
tapping,"  of  course  not  by  the  sting,  Buster  slowly  pulled 
the  train  up  the  track  toward  the  end  of  the  long  tunnel. 

At  the  lower  end  of  the  chute  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel, 
down  which  the  ore  and  waste  was  shoved  from  the  levels 
above,  was  a  small  telephone  which  Standish  had  rigged 
up  himself.  The  wire  was  fastened  to  the  chute,  and 
followed  it  to  the  upper  end.  The  bell  was  not  fitted  up 
electrically  at  that  time,  but  was  worked  by  means  of  a 
loose  wire  which  shook  a  small  hand  bell  at  both  ends 
of  the  line,  when  the  wire  was  pulled  back  and  forth  the 
bell  rang  out  loudly,  thus  attracting  the  attention  of  the 
men  who  were  at  work  on  that  level. 

At  this  time,  mining  in  Colorado  was  a  very  different 
proposition  from  what  it  is  today.  Machine  drills  were 
practically  unknown.  Electricity  as  a  motive  power  was 
merely  being  talked  of,  and  nearly  everything  was  accom 
plished  by  hand  process,  crude  and  primitive. 

iStandish  rang  the  bell  vigorously.  Soon  a  rough  voice 
responded. 

"Is  that  you,  Red?"  asked  Standish,  and  receiving  an 
affirmative  answer,  he  continued.  "Will  you  please  come 
down,  Red,  and  bring  McGuire  with  you.  Let  the  other 
boys  finish  up  the  work.  I  won't  send  you  back  up  there 
again  tonight." 

"  All  right,  boss,"  replied  the  gruff  voice. 

While  they  were  coming  down,  Standish  looked  about 
for  a  shovel,  and  finding  one,  he  cut  a  piece  of  rope  from 
a  large  coil  which  hung  in  the  rocky  chamber,  and 
•fastened  it  thru  the  hole  in  the  handle  of  the  shovel.  He 
also  found  a  pick,  and  adjusted  a  piece  of  rope  to  it  in 
a  similar  manner. 

By  this  time  Johnnie  had  arrived,  with  the  ore  train. 


98  THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

"Seen  anything  of  dad  tonight,  Johnnie?"  asked 
Standish. 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  boy. 

Standish  could  hear  the  men  coming  down  the  ladders. 
Soon  they  reached  the  first  level  and  emerged  into  the 
tunnel.  Standish  looked  at  both  them  and  the  boy  seri 
ously. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "Dad  hasn't  come  home  for  supper. 
I  'phoned  the  store,  but  he  hasn't  been  there  at  any  time 
today.  When  Nelson  checked  in  tonight,  he  said  that 
dad  had  probably  gone  up  to  the  seventh  level  on  the 
west  end  to  see  about  that  trial  blast.  Boys,  it's  hard  to 
think  of,  but  mebbe — mebbe  something's  happened  to 
him  up  there.  It's  the  only  place  I  know  of  to  look  for 
him,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me.  Red,  you  take  the 
shovel.  Mac,  you  take  the  pick,  and  I'll  carry  the  dog 
up,  his  scent  may  help  us  out." 

The  men  looked  at  each  other  significantly  and  silently 
picked  up  the  tools.  Johnnie's  eyes  opened  wide  in 
alarm,  and  as  they  started  to  leave,  he  came  up  to 
Standish  and  said,  "Please,  Mr.  Brown,  can't  I  go  too?" 

"Yes,  Johnnie,  give  Buster  a  good  feed,  and  come 
along,"  replied  Standish. 

When  they  got  well  started  toward  the  ladder  which 
led  up  to  the  seventh  level,  Standish,  who  was  in  the  lead, 
suddenly  stopped,  and  stooping  down,  he  pulled  Shep 
up  to  him  saying  seriously,  "Shep,  old  boy,  we've  lost 
dad,  go  find  him." 

The  dog's  brilliant  eyes  flashed  a  moment  in  the  candle 
light,  and  then  he  bounded  away  into  the  darkness.  As 
they  neared  the  ladder  they  saw  him  go  a  few  paces  be 
yond  it,  and  then  returning,  and  smelling  and  sniffing 
at  the  slimy  rounds,  he  began  to  bark  furiously. 

"My  God!  boys,  this  is  awful.  Dad  has  undoubtedly 
gone  up  there,  the  dog  scents  his  trail.  Whether  he's 
alive  and  has  possibly  come  down,  is  the  thing  we  will 
have  to  determine.  What  do  you  think,  boys?" 

Rourke  and  McGuire  exchanged  glances,  but  remained 
silent. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE  99 

"Speak  up,  boys,  don't  be  afraid,  I  can  stand  it,"  he 
said  with  a  pathetic  glance. 

"  Boss,  its  a  cinch  that  he's  up  there.  If  he  had  come 
down  the  dog  would  lead  us  the  other  way.  I've  trailed 
'em  before.  It's  only  a  question  of  whether  the  old  man's 

hurt,  and  still  alive,  or  wheth ,"  and  Rourke  stopped 

speaking,  as  he  saw  the  blood  rush  from  Standish's  face, 
he  could  not  say  the  word,  "dead." 

"  Come  on  then,  boys,"  said  Standish  fiercely. 

Placing  a  fresh  candle  in  the  socket  fastened  to  his  hat, 
he  picked  up  the  dog  and  carried  him  on  his  broad 
shoulders.  The  dog  was  trembling  with  excitement,  but 
he  laid  quiet.  He  had  often  ascended  the  ladders  with 
Standish  in  this  manner,  and  his  instinct  told  him  that 
he  must  lie  quiet  in  order  to  preserve  the  equilibrium. 

Thus  the  little  band  started  up  the  ladders,  Standish 
leading  the  way.  The  shovel  fastened  about  Red's  neck 
clanked  dismally  as  it  struck  the  sides  of  the  ladder. 
They  halted  for  a  moment  at  each  level,  and  each  time 
Standish  released  the  dog.  The  knowing  animal  would 
snuff  about  for  a  few  paces,  and  then  returning  to  the 
ladder  he  would  look  upward  and  bark  excitedly.  Finally 
reaching  the  seventh  level,  Standish  released  the  dog  as 
before,  and  at  once  he  bounded  off  in  the  darkness  sneez 
ing  and  barking. 

"My  God,  that  does  settle  it,"  groaned  Standish  piti 
fully. 

The  men  remained  silent.  Old  experienced  miners, 
they  had  seen  the  death  mark  before.  They  only  won 
dered  that  it  had  not  occurred  before,  as  this  was  appar 
ently  the  first  accident  which  had  ever  occurred  in  the 
history  of  the  40  Rounds.  A  remarkably  low  casualty, 
considering  the  long  period  of  the  mine's  operation. 

They  followed  Standish  carefully,  the  boy  creeping 
up  between  them.  He  was  thoroly  frightened  by  this 
time,  and  wished  that  he  had  not  come.  As  they  neared 
the  end  of  the  drift,  they  saw  Shep  thrusting  his  nose 
into  a  mass  of  wet  and  slimy  vein  matter,  and  halting 
they  looked  about  them. 

The  roof  had  caved  in  badly.    Yes,  the  shot  had  ex- 


100         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

posed  over  a  foot  of  ore,  old  Peter  had  won  his  bet,  the 
ore  had  not  pinched  out.  Standish  looked  questioningly 
at  the  dog. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Shep?"  he  said. 

The  dog  thrust  his  nose  into  the  wet  mass  as  tho  to 
fathom  it.  He  leaped  upon  the  pile,  his  feet  sinking 
several  inches  into  the  deep  muck.  Then  he  lowered 
his  delicate  nose  again.  Suddenly  he  stiffened  out,  his 
eyes  gleaming  with  rare  intelligence.  Then  slowly  mov 
ing  his  head  back  and  forth  over  the  mass  he  began  to 
howl  dismally.  The  weird  sound  echoed  hideously  in 
the  grim  vault.  It  was  the  death  howl.  The  vault  con 
tained  a  corpse. 

Then  he  began  to  scratch.  His  sharp  claws  grating 
harshly  upon  the  quartz  between  his  low,  fierce  growls. 

Standish,  almost  fainting,  recovered  himself,  and  turn 
ing  to  the  rough  men  at  his  side  said,  "Boys,  this  pile 
of  rock  is  a  grave,  please  begin,"  and  calling  off  the  dog, 
he  had  Johnnie  hold  him. 

The  men  unfastened  the  tools  from  about  their  necks 
while  Standish  lighted  another  candle  and  thrust  it 
into  a  chink  in  the  wall.  The  first  thing  Red  did,  was 
to  advance  to  the  side  of  the  great  pile  of  debris,  and 
cautiously  thrust  his  shovel  upward  at  the  cave-in  of  the 
roof.  It  looked  solid,  but  he  thought  that  they  had  bet 
ter  not  advance  too  far.  Returning  he  said: 

"  We'll  begin  at  this  end,  Mr.  Brown,  its  safer." 

The  two  men  worked  swiftly,  McGuire  loosening  the 
stuff,  and  Red  shoveling  it  back  into  the  drift.  As  they 
advanced  slowly,  inch  by  inch,  the  more  carefully  did 
McGuire  insert  the  pick  into  the  pile.  Soon  a  half 
burnt  candle  fell  from  the  debris.  Standish  seized  it 
and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket.  The  men  were  steaming 
from  their  exertions,  but  they  were  tireless  and  worked 
like  demons. 

Every  moment  or  so,  the  dog  would  try  to  tear  himself 
away  from  Johnnie;  but  unable  to  release  himself,  he 
would  bark  furiously,,  only  a  stern  command  from 
Standish  serving  to  quiet  him. 

Soon  Red  stooped  down  and  picked  up  a  pencil  from 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         101 

the  last  shovelful  of  stuff.  Evidently  when  it  fell  from 
Peter's  fingers  it  had  rolled  toward  the  candle.  Then  the 
note-book  which  contained  the  letter,  stuck  out  from 
the  mass.  Standish  stooped  down  and  picked  it  up,  and 
as  he  did  so,  he  saw  something  different  from  the  rocks, 
the  talc,  and  the  ore.  He  forgot  himself,  and  thrusting 
his  hand  into  the  wet  mass,  he  grasped  the  object.  It 
was  the  cold  right  hand  of  his  dead  father,  lying  extended 
in  the  debris,  just  where  the  pencil  had  fallen  from  it. 
He  gave  a  terrible  cry  and  leaped  back.  Then  recovering 
himself,  he  thrust  the  book  into  his  pocket.  The  two  men 
dropped  their  tools,  and  all  three  attempted  to  exhume 
the  body  with  their  bare  hands,  but  they  could  only  re 
lease  it  in  this  manner  as  far  as  the  navel.  Their  hands 
were  powerless  against  the  enormous  mass  of  ore  which 
had  crushed  out  the  old  man's  life. 

Disdaining  now  the  thought  that  another  slide  might 
come  down  on  them,  they  went  boldly  forward  to  the 
breast  of  the  drift,  and  resorting  to  the  pick  and  shovel 
again,  they  gradually  broke  up  the  huge  mass  of  ore. 
And  as  they  did  so,  both  Red  and  McGuire  could  not 
help  noticing  the  extreme  richness  of  the  ores  they  were 
working  in.  Even  in  the  presence  of  death,  the  miner 
never  loses  his  thirst  and  instinct  for  gold.  He  scents 
the  richness  of  the  precious  stuff,  as  naturally  as  the 
bull  scents  the  waiting  herd. 

At  last  the  mass  was  broken  up  and  removed,  and  the 
mountain  gave  up  its  dead. 

Carrying  the  body  to  a  dry  spot  near  the  ladder,  they 
laid  it  out  on  the  floor  of  the  drift,  there  in  the  black 
vault  of  the  mountain,  with  the  candles  glimmering  about 
the  head  and  body  like  the  ghostly  illumination  of  an 
Irish  wake. 

Grief,  pitiful  agonizing  grief,  came  slowly  over  them, 
as  they  gazed  at  the  kindly  old  face  now  so  cold  in  death. 

Standish,  unable  to  longer  contain  his  tears,  threw 
himself  upon  the  form  of  his  beloved  parent  and  sobbed 
like  a  child.  The  men  could  not  stand  it.  Johnnie  had 
been  blubbering  for  sometime.  So  Red  blew  out  the 
candles.  It  was  a  charitable  act.  Johnnie  snuggled  up 


102        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

to  him  and  seized  his  hand,  and  thus  the  little  band 
wept  there  in  the  darkness.  All  about  them  was  the  vast 
bulk  of  the  mountain.  Cold,  pitiless,  voiceless,  eternal 
materiality. 

After  a  long  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sobs  of 
Standish,  Red  struck  a  match  and  lit  the  candles.  Stand- 
ish  then  rose  calm  and  silent.  He  tore  up  his  jacket,  ard 
with  the  strips  and  their  two  pieces  of  rope,  he  had  the 
men  bind  the  body  upon  his  broad  back  and  shoulders. 
Red  carried  the  dog,  and  the  tools  were  left  behind. 

Standish  carried  his  precious  burden  down  the  entire 
six  hundred  feet  of  ladders  to  the  tunnel  below  without  a 
stop.  The  men  had  begged  to  relieve  him,  but  he  would 
not  listen.  Then  he  walked  thru  the  long  tunnel  and 
carried  his  burden  out  under  the  stars  and  into  the 
cottage. 


CHAPTER   III 

The  bright  sunny  morning  of  the  second  day  after  the 
death  of  Peter  Brown,  a  group  of  miners  stood  near  the 
old  shaft  house  of  the  40  Rounds.  Standish  had  closed 
down  the  mine  itself,  and  his  men  were  here  gathered 
to  blast  a  grave  for  old  Peter  out  of  the  living  granite. 

Great  drifts  of  snow  were  on  the  ground.  Two  hun 
dred  feet  east  of  the  shaft  house  was  the  edge  of  the  great 
ledge  in  which  the  lode  of  the  40  Rounds  terminated 
so  abruptly.  It  was  an  enormous  projecting  buttress  of 
the  Emerald,  having  an  almost  sheer  height  of  two  thou 
sand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  creek,  and  some  fifteen 
hundred  feet  above  the  cottage  of  the  Brown's  and  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel. 

A  hundred  feet  back  from  the  edge  of  this  gigantic 
crag,  grew  a  small  clump  of  sturdy  pines,  half  buried  in 
the  deep  snow  drifts.  The  hundred  feet  intervening  be 
tween  the  pines  and  the  edge  of  the  ledge,  was  as  bare 
of  vegetation  and  snow  as  one's  hand,  and  its  floor  was 
almost  as  smooth  as  polished  marble.  The  snow  could 
not  stay  upon  it.  The  eternal  sweep  of  the  mountain 
wind  carried  it  over  the  precipice  as  fast  as  it  fell,  and 
no  soil  had  ever  accumulated  there  for  the  same  reason. 

But  at  a  distance  of  a  hundred  feet  from  the  edge,  the 
pines  had  managed  to  get  a  foothold.  No  one  ever  knew 
how  they  accomplished  the  feat,  or  how  they  maintained 
their  'brave,  fearless,  green  lives  on  that  bleak  rocky  emi 
nence.  Perhaps  in  the  long  ago,  some  fearful  snow-slide 
had  deposited  a  little  soil  there,  together  with  a  bunch 
of  pine  cones  or  their  winged  seeds,  and  in  the  spring 
the  warm  sun  had  coaxed  the  little  ones  out  from  under 
the  snow.  Getting  a  little  start  thus,  they  laid  there 
another  long  winter,  and  gradually  gathering  courage 
with  the  eternal  perenniality  of  Nature  in  their  veins, 
they  had  peeped  up  and  smiled  at  the  sky.  Then  as  they 

103 


104        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

gathered  strength,  they  became  more  fearless,  and  as 
they  grew  larger  each  succeeding  season,  they  finally 
grew  to  boldly  defy  the  Storm  King,  and  flecked  their 
green  tipped  boughs  saucily  into  his  face.  Never  a 
breath  of  air  in  the  gulch  but  what  swayed  these  beautiful 
pines.  Isolated  many  hundred  feet  from  their  green 
comrades  on  the  further  slopes  of  the  mountain,  they 
shook  and  weaved  merrily  in  the  fierce  play  of  the  wild 
mountain  winds.  They  had  survived  the  hurricanes  of 
summer,  had  withstood  the  snow-slides,  the  forest  fires, 
and  the  eternal  crackling  and  tumbling  of  the  great  crags 
above  them.  Erect,  silvery  green,  beautiful  as  Norse 
maidens,  they  tossed  their  boughs  bravely  and  laughed 
to  scorn  the  wildest  fury  of  the  elements. 

The  bare  place  on  the  great  ledge  between  this  clump 
of  pines  and  the  edge,  was  to  be  the  last  resting  place 
of  Peter  Brown.  The  view  from  this  high  eyrie  of  the 
Emerald  was  magnificent.  Far  down  the  gulch  shone 
the  slender  ribbon  of  the  silvery  stream  flowing  between 
the  green  clad  hills.  Plume  and  Joetown  were  both  vis 
ible.  To  the  west  rose  the  great  Peak,  towering  nobly 
majestic  among  its  white  mantled  brothers.  Across  the 
creek,  the  Castle  reared  its  proud  jagged  crest,  and  the 
entire  Pay  Rock  .district  was  visible,  with  the  great  dumps 
of  the  Pay  Rock  and  the  Sampson-Smith  showing  white 
on  the  mountain  side,  and  the  black  smoke  rolling  out 
of  the  big  stacks  of  their  shaft  houses. 

Many  times  old  Peter  had  expressed  a  desire  to  be 
buried  on  the  top  of  this  ledge,  and  his  faithful  son  was 
fulfilling  that  desire. 

The  day  following  the  discovery  of  Peter's  body  in 
the  drift  o"f  the  seventh  level,  Standish  had  wired  to  Den 
ver  for  a  handsome  mahogany  casket  and  a  metallic 
case  to  contain  it.  The  caskets  would  arrive  on  the  after 
noon  train  of  this  bright  sunny  day,  and  the  vault  which 
was  to  contain  them,  was  to  be  drilled  and  blasted  out 
of  the  solid  granite  floor  of  the  ledge. 

They  were  having  a  jolly  time  of  it,  these  rough  min 
ers.  Red  Rourke,  the  night  foreman,  had  just  wagered  a 
keg  of  beer  for  the  crowd,  with  Nelson,  the  day  foreman, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        105 

that  he  and  his  partner  could  drill  a  hole  the  required 
depth,  quicker  than  Nelson  and  his  Swede  partner.  It 
was  to  be  Ireland  versus  Sweden. 

There  had  always  been  a  good  natured  rivalry  between 
the  day  shift  of  the  40  Rounds,  which  was  composed  en 
tirely  of  Swedes,  and  the  night  shift,  made  up  of  Irish 
men.  The  drilling  of  the  holes  in  excavating  this  gran 
ite  tomb  of  Peter's  afforded  them  an  excellent  opportun 
ity  to  test  the  merits  of  each  crew,  and  they  flattered 
themselves,  that  none  would  enjoy  the  affair  more  than 
old  Peter,  whether  he  was  there  in  the  flesh  or  spirit. 

Gathering  up  the  drills  and  sledges  the  men  walked 
over  to  the  ledge.  Old  Micky  Rourke,  Red's  father, 
marked  out  the  dimensions  of  the  vault  according  to  the 
previous  instructions  of  Standish.  It  was  to  be  excavated 
in  the  exact  center  of  the  bare  spot,  a  few  feet  east  of 
the  clump  of  pines.  And  Micky  unwinding  a  steel 
tape,  called  one  of  the  men  to  assist  him.  Then  they 
marked  out  the  exact  lines  of  the  vault,  with  a  brush  and 
a  can  of  white  lead,  Micky  painting  the  lines  upon  the 
bare  surface  of  the  ledge. 

While  he  did  so,  the  contesting  drill  teams  stripped 
bare  to  the  waist,  scorning  the  cold  air  of  the  morning 
and  the  chill  of  the  nearby  snow  drifts;  their  beautiful 
skins,  covering  magnificent  muscles,  shining  in  the 
bright  sunlight  like  the  sheen  of  some  delicate  satin  in 
the  gleam  of  a  ballroom  chandelier.  The  Swede's  skin 
was  snow  white,  with  a  faint  tinge  of  steel  blue.  It  was 
unmistakably  Norse,  the  polar  blue  white,  the  fair  flesh 
covering  beneath  which  flows  the  proud  blood  of  the 
Vikings.  The  Irishman's  skin  was  a  soft  pink  spotted 
with  great  brown  freckles,  much  coarser,  though  warmer 
than  the  Swede's.  Pinching  it  with  the  fingers,  it  would 
instantly  whiten,  releasing  it,  the  rich  blood  would  rush 
back  and  raise  its  hue  to  a  vivid  scarlet.  Placing  the 
living  bodies  of  these  two  great  races  before  a  student 
versed  equally  in  history  as  in  anatomy,  he  could  prob 
ably  readily  tell,  by  examining  the  cuticle  alone,  the  na 
tionality  of  each  subject,  the  Scandinavian  and  the  Celt. 


106        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Micky  cut  a  pine  bough,  measured  off  the  exact  length 
that  the  holes  were  to  be  drilled,  and  trimmed  the  switch 
accordingly.  The  team  who  first  drilled  the  hole  without 
the  stick  projecting  over  the  edge,  was  to  be  declared  the 
winner. 

The  contestants  leisurely  sorted  out  the  required  drills 
and  arranged  them  conveniently.  Each  team  was  pro 
vided  with  two  sledges  in  case  one  should  break  at  the 
handle  or  otherwise  become  defective.  Old  Micky  was 
the  self  appointed  referee.  He  gave  the  word  and  the 
two  teams  started  in.  Both  Red  and  Nelson  wielded  the 
sledges  while  their  assistants  held  the  drills.  Between 
the  blows,  the  assistants  gave  the  drills  a  slight  twist,  in 
order  to  keep  the  holes  perfectly  straight  and  true. 

The  huge  sledges  were  raised  by  these  sturdy  giants  of 
satiny  skin  and  knotted  muscles  to  their  full  length,  and 
then  brought  down  upon  the  drills  with  terrific  force.  A 
false  stroke  would  undoubtedly  crush  the  hand  or  per 
haps  the  brain  of  the  assistant,  who  was  stooping  down 
manipulating  the  drill  with  his  head  only  a  few  inches 
away.  But  never  a  thought  of  a  false  blow  by  these 
brawny  giants  of  the  Great  Divide. 

"  Clank,  clank,"  fell  the  mighty  blows,  steel  falling 
upon  steel  with  the  regularity  of  clock  work,  and  as  the 
sledges  were  raised  and  the  blows  fell  in  rapid  succession, 
the  onlooking  group  of  miners  was  held  spellbound  in 
the  glorious  exhibition,  applauding  the  teams  repeatedly. 

The  winning  team  was  apparently  a  matter  of  mere 
conjecture.  The  blows  of  the  Irishman  and  the  Swede 
seeming  to  fall  with  equal  force  and  speed,  and  their  as 
sistants  seemed  equally  skilled  in  manipulating  the  drills. 

Nelson  weakened  first.  He  dropped  the  sledge  and 
seized  the  drill  while  his  assistant  picked  up  the  sledge 
and  began  the  same  steady  rain  of  blows.  He  was  con 
siderably  lighter  than  Nelson,  but  his  blows  rang  out 
clearly  as  steel  met  steel,  and  the  drill  sank  slowly  but 
surely  into  the  solid  granite.  Soon  Red  weakened,  and 
he  exchanged  places  with  his  team  mate,  McGuire,  wrho 
worked  the  sledge  like  a  demon.  He  was  faster  than  any 
of  them,  and  the  steel  seemed  to  fairly  sink  into  the  hard 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        107 

granite.  Thus  they  spelled  each  other,  and  as  the  holes 
grew  deeper,  they  threw  aside  the  short  drills  and  inserted 
longer  ones.  And  such  was  the  admirable  dexterity  dis 
played  by  these  expert  miners,  that  they  actually  made 
the  exchange  of  drills  between  the  blows  with  never ^ a 
stroke  missed.  The  winning  team  would  probably  win 
by  the  merest  fraction. 

Old  Micky  was  getting  excited.  "Hooray  fer  old  Ire 
land,"  he  shouted,  as  he  watched  the  magnificent  play 
of  the  Hibernian  team. 

A  big  Swede  touched  him  on  the  arm.  "Look  at  Ole 
Nelson,  hey  bate  your  boy.  Eh?"  he  said. 

"Niver  moind,  now,  you  white  headed  galoot.  Hoo 
ray  fer  old  Ireland !"  snouted  Micky  again. 

They  had  just  inserted  the  longest  drills  which  would 
finish  the  holes.  Their  supple  bodies  were  now  steaming 
heavily  in  the  frosty  air.  They  did  not  seem  to  tire,  and 
the  flash  of  their  white  arms  was  answered  by  the  deep 
clang  of  the  blows,  just  as  regularly  as  when  they  first 
started.  The  little  group  of  miners  pressed  closer  and 
closer  to  them.  Nelson's  assistant  motioned  Micky  to 
make  ready  to  measure  their  hole.  All  now  depended  on 
the  estimate  of  the  man  who  held  the  drill.  If  the  hole 
was  not  deep  enough,  they  would  have  to  start  the  sledge 
play  again,  thus  giving  their  opponents  the  advantage 
of  a  few  precious  strokes.  The  Irish  team,  however, 
showed  no  signs  of  finishing  as  yet.  Nelson's  man  nod 
ded,  and  Micky  plunged  the  stick  into  the  hole.  It  pro 
jected  a  mere  fraction  of  an  inch,  and  the  Swedes  des 
perately  renewed  their  stroke.  In  the  meantime  Red  was 
working  like  a  fiend.  Like  most  Irishmen,  it  was  any 
thing  to  beat,  even  if  the  stake  was  only  the  treat  for  the 
crowd.  The  exertions  which  these  men  were  putting  forth 
in  this  friendly  contest,  might  be  taking  a  year  off  their 
lives.  What  mattered  it,  if  a  victory  was  to  be  won? 

McGuire  suddenly  turned  to  the  appealing  face  of  old 
Micky. 

"Quick,  Micky!"  he  panted,  and  in  went  the  switch. 
It  was  the  exact  length  of  the  hole.  A  perfect  fit,  and 
the  onlooking  Swedes  admitted  it.  At  that  moment  the 


108.      THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Swedes  yelled  again,  and  in  went  the  rod.  Another  per 
fect  fit.  The  Swedes  had  lost  by  Nelson's  assistant  mak 
ing  a  slight  miscalculation.  If  they  had  not  stopped  for  the 
previous  measurement,  the  affair  would  have  been  a  draw, 
and  even  as  it  was,  both  sides  admitted  the  equal  skill 
of  the  other.  The  rivals  shook  hands  and  got  into  their 
shirts,  little  Johnnie  being  commissioned  to  go  to  town 
on  Buster  for  the  keg  of  beer.  Then  several  other  miners 
resumed  the  drill  work  on  the  vault,  while  Micky  and  the 
two  perspiring  foremen  visited  a  pile  of  ledge  rock  near 
the  shaft  house,  to  block  out  a  huge  stone  cross,  which  was 
to  be  cut  and  placed  to  mark  the  tomb. 

A  little  before  noon  Johnnie  arrived  with  the  keg  of 
beer,  accompanied  by  several  others  boys  and  burros,  who 
brought  up  a  substantial  dinner  which  Standish  had 
ordered  from  the  hotel  in  Plume.  The  dinner  was  served 
in  the  old  shaft  house,  made  warm  and  comfortable  by 
the  heat  of  the  old  cook  stove.  The  men  drank  liberally 
of  the  beer,  and  placed  the  keg  near  the  vault  where  they 
could  prevent  the  small  boys  from  disturbing  it.  At  dusk, 
another  train  of  burros  brought  up  a  delicious  supper  and 
an  ample  quantity  of  bedding. 

In  this  day's  work,  the  men  had  completed  the  vault, 
drilled  a  deep  hole  to  insert  the  base  of  the  great  cross, 
edged  up  a  huge  flat  stone  for  a  cover,  cut  a  deep  groove 
for  it  to  overlap  the  vault,  and  had  also  finished  a  splen 
didly  proportioned  granite  cross  to  mark  the  last  resting 
place  of  Peter  Brown. 

After  supper  they  played  cards  and  smoked,  also  fin 
ishing  the  keg  of  beer,  the  children  having  long  since 
been  sent  home.  Old  Micky  had  brought  up  his  violin. 
He  had  often  played  second  to  Peter's  first  at  the  town 
dances  in  Plume.  Seating  himself  near  the  stove,  he 
rapped  sharply  upon  the  instrument,  and  said: 

"Ladies  and  gintlemen,  that  is,  if  any  of  yez  galoots 
is  ladies  paradin'  roun'  in  gint's  clothes,  I  wish  to  play 
yez  a  piece  that's  very  dear  to  me.  Mony's  the  toime 
I've  heard  the  gude  Peter  play  this  tune,  and  its  on  me 
heart  to  give  it  yez.  Are  ye  ready?" 

"  Go  ahead,"  they  shouted  eagerly,  and  Micky  began 
the  familiar  air  of  the  "  Mocking  Bird."  After  swinging 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        109 

deftly  into  the  simple  melody,  he  then  took  up  the  varia 
tions,  rendering  them  splendidly;  his  work  receiving  an 
enthusiastic  round  of  applause.  Bowing  with  mock  dig 
nity  right  and  left,  he  removed  his  hat  and  proceeded 
to  pass  it  among  the  jolly  crew.  Good-natured  Nelson 
put  in  a  dime,  which  was  the  sole  contribution.  Looking 
at  it  a  moment,  the  merry  Celt  handed  it  back,  saying: 

"The  poor  crathure  looks  so  lonesome  loike,  Ole,  yez 
had  bether  put  it  back  in  its  nest.  Shure,  ain't  I  afraid  of 
Scandihoovian  dough  ennyhow,  it  makes  such  thin 
bread."  And  the  crowd  laughed  heartily  at  the  witticism, 
as  they  thought  of  the  thin  wafer  like  bread  of  the  Swe 
dish  immigrant. 

Standish  had  engaged  several  men  from  the  Sampson- 
Smith  to  assist  him  in  getting  the  heavy  caskets  from  the 
C.  C.  &  U.  depot  up  to  the  ledge.  The  train  due  early 
in  the  afternoon,  managed  to  crawl  into  the  depot  at 
dark,  as  usual,  several  hours  late.  The  caskets,  one  inside 
the  other,  and  both  enclosed  in  a  rough  outside  box, 
were  fastened  on  runners  and  hauled  up  the  steep  trail 
to  the  cottage. 

The  undertaker  from  Joetown  who  had  prepared  the 
body  for  burial  the  day  before,  arranged  it  in  the  mahog 
any  casket.  The  lid  was  closed  down,  the  cover  of  the 
metallic  case  put  on,  the  rough  outside  box  was  closed  up, 
and  the  burro  train  started  for  the  shaft  house,  guided 
by  the  Sampson-Smith  boys.  Standish  had  also  secured 
a  melting  pot,  several  bars  of  lead,  and  some  tamping 
irons  with  which  to  seal  up  the  vault  and  the  base  of  the 
cross,  and  which  were  also  loaded  on  the  burros.  There  was 
no  moon,  but  the  stars  shone  brightly,  and  the  mountain 
side  was  white  with  snow. 

Up  the  steep  winding  trail  toiled  the  procession,  the 
burros  often  stumbling  and  wallowing  in  the  deep  snow. 
The  great  weight  of  the  heavy  caskets,  and  the  extreme 
steepness  of  the  trail  in  the  dim  light,  made  it  a  difficult 
undertaking.  But  their  hearts  were  in  their  work,  and 
by  midnight,  after  extreme  exertions,  they  managed  to 
reach  the  shaft  house.  Bed  clothing  and  a  warm  lunch 
was  provided  for  the  Sampson-Smith  boys,  and  Standish 
guarded  the  caskets  until  day  break. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  day  of  the  funeral  broke  gloriously,  altho 
it  was  very  cold.  Standish  roused  his  men,  and  they  ate 
a  hearty  breakfast,  after  which  the  caskets  were  run  out 
to  the  vault.  A  cold  breeze  swept  up  from  the  east,  and 
the  deep  freshly  cut  vault  of  shining  granite  glistened 
with  thousands  of  particles  of  hoar  frost.  The  great 
cross  was  then  moved  on  rollers  and  raised  upon  a  scaf 
fold  over  the  niche.  By  careful  manipulation,  it  was 
lowered  without  accident,  and  as  it  stood  upright  and  was 
stripped  of  its  wrappings  and  ropes,  the  first  beams  of  the 
morning  sun  rose  over  the  mountains  and  peeped  into 
the  gulch.  A  fire  was  then  built  under  the  lead  pot,  the 
lead  melted,  ladled,  and  run  into  the  cracks  about  the 
base,  and  then  carefully  tamped.  That  cross  will  probably 
stand  for  centuries. 

The  rough  box  was  then  removed  from  the  caskets, 
the  lid  of  the  metallic  case  was  carefully  raised,  and  Stan- 
dish  threw  a  huge  American  flag  over  the  mahogany 
case.  Ropes  were  then  placed  in  readiness  to  lower  the 
caskets  into  the  vault,  and  all  was  made  ready  for  the 
funeral. 

As  they  finished  their  task,  a  loud  report,  resembling 
that  of  a  cannon,  was  heard.  It  was  Red  and  Micky  ex 
ploding  powder  in  an  anvil  near  the  blacksmith  shop. 
The  discharge  reverberated  in  deep  thunderous  tones  in 
the  gulch,  the  roar  echoing  first  from  the  near  slopes  of 
the  Emerald,  and  a  few  seconds  later,  from  the  great  crags 
of  the  Castle  across  the  creek.  It  was  the  signal  to  the 
people  of  Plume,  and  the  anvil  was  thus  discharged  every 
few  minutes. 

Presently  the  watchers  on  the  ledge  could  see  a  series 
of  little  black  specks  moving  up  the  trail.  The  good 
people  of  Plume  were  on  their  way  to  pay  their  last  re 
spects  to  old  Peter  Brown. 

in 


112        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Among  the  first  to  arrive  was  Mr.  Howard,  the  store 
keeper.  He  was  to  make  a  few  remarks  in  lieu  of  a  min 
ister,  as  Peter  had  been  very  fond  of  him. 

Funerals  do  not  vary  much  in  their  essentials. 

From  that  remote  time  when  the  first  man  mourned 
o'er  his  dead,  and  covered  the  strange  cold  clay  with  heaps 
of  stones  to  keep  off  the  vultures  and  the  wolves,  the 
funeral  has  ever  been  the  same.  A  life  fled,  the  tears 
shed,  the  words  of  eulogy  spoken.  The  sad  burial,  and 
the  body  thus  consigned  to  earth,  mixes  with  the  soil  from 
which  it  sprung. 

It  matters  not  that  kings  be  embalmed,  and  placed  in 
marble  tombs;  or  the  sacred  dead  be  reduced  to  ashes 
and  placed  within  a  golden  urn. 

Behold!    The  AGES  march. 

The  volcano  spouts,  the  deep  sea  rushes  in,  the  earth 
quake  surges;  and  tombs,  urns,  and  catacombs,  yield 
and  mix  their  dead  with  the  eternal  dust. 

"  Boom !"  Came  a  deep  roar  from  the  Sampson-Smith. 
They  were  taking  up  the  funeral  dirge. 

"  Puff — boom !"    Answered  the  40  Rounds. 

Presently  the  Pay  Rock  boys  woke  up.  And — "boom  I" 
came  a  mighty  roar  from  a  point  near  their  shaft  house. 

"Bully,"  said  old  Micky,  "Begorrah,  Red,  we'll  give 
her  a  whopper  this  time,"  heaping  up  a  fearful  charge 
in  the  anvil. 

"Puff — boom!"  It  roared,  rolling  up  the  gulch  like 
a  thunderbolt. 

"Boom!  Boom!"  answered  the  grim  batteries  of  the 
Castle.  Soon  the  Seven  Thirty  got  into  the  battle,  and 
the  Abraham  Lincoln  took  up  the  fight. 

The  din  became  terrific,  the  thunderous  discharges 
reverberating  and  rolling  unceasingly  among  the  dizzy 
crags  of  the  mountains. 

Peter  Brown ;  old  veteran,  brave  soldier,  honorable  citi 
zen,  fellow  musician,  brother  miner,  Christian;  your  re 
quiem  is  being  sung  among  the  vast  defiles  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  your  brother  earthmen  are  rolling  up 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        113 

thunderous  salvos,  announcing  your  coming  to  the  King 
of  Kings ! 

Quite  a  crowd  was  gathered  by  this  time.  Many  women 
and  children  were  there.  Old  Peter  had  remembered 
every  one  of  them  at  Christmas  time  during  the  past  few 
years. 

Promptly  at  ten  o'clock  the  undertaker  removed  the 
mahogany  lid,  and  Mr.  Howard  stepped  forward  and 
made  a  neat  address.  As  he  closed  his  remarks,  he  opened 
up  a  small  notebook.  It  was  the  book  containing  the 
letter  written  by  the  dying  Peter  to  Standish. 

Explaining  the  painful  conditions  under  which  the 
letter  was  written,  Mr.  Howard  further  said:  "Let  there 
be  written  upon  the  tombstone  of  this  grand  old  man, 
this  sublime  confession  which  he  penned  within  the 
shadow  of  death,  'I  die  a  Christian.' " 

A  quartet  had  been  gathered  from  among  the  throng. 
They  sang  splendidly.  As  they  did  so,  the  crowd  filed 
slowly  past  the  casket,  to  look  once  more  upon  the  fea 
tures  of  their  old  friend. 

Several  women  brought  flowers.  Most  precious  blos 
soms,  grown  in  tin  cans  and  bottles  in  the  windows  of 
their  tiny  cottages. 

What  touching  offerings! 

Some  of  these  precious  flowers  had  taken  months  of 
tender  care  to  grow  and  protect  them  from  the  cold 
bleakness  of  the  Great  Hills.  How  many  times  had  they 
been  taken  to  the  cottage  window  to  catch  the  pale  sun 
light?  How  many  times  put  near  the  fire  at  night,  that 
they  might  be  safe  from  the  cold  winter  wind?  A  prim 
rose,  a  calla  lily,  a  violet,  a  stalk  of  fragrant  geranium, 
a  poor,  half  starved  rose.  Into  the  casket  they  dropped, 
one  by  one.  Not — not  in  bunches,  dear  reader.  That 
was  impossible  in  bleak  winter  bound  Plume.  Standish 
saw  these  poverty  offerings  drop  into  the  casket,  and  it 
touched  him  deeply.  He  too,  would  remember  these 
faithful  women  of  Plume  at  Christmas  time,  like  his 
good  father. 

A  telegram  had  been  received  from  Colonel  Rose's 
son,  John,  to  the  effect  that  the  Colonel  was  sick  in  bed 


114        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

and  could  not  attend  the  funeral.  A  package  containing 
a  great  bunch  of  roses  had  come  up  on  the  train  with  the 
caskets.  They  were  from  the  Colonel  and  his  wife.  They 
looked  beautiful  as  they  lay  upon  the  starry  flag,  but  in 
Standish's  eyes  they  did  not  compare  with  the  precious 
offerings  of  these  poor  miner  women  of  Plume. 

The  crowd  having  filed  past  the  casket,  Standish  came 
last.  He  looked  long  and  tenderly  at  the  calm,  peaceful 
countenance,  and  he  picked  up  the  offerings  of  the  miner 
women  and  tucked  them  one  by  one  about  the  white  locks 
of  his  father,  causing  the  women  to  burst  into  tears.  Ten 
derly  he  pressed  the  cold  lips  for  the  last  time,  and  then 
Red  and  Nelson  took  him  by  the  arms  and  led  him  away. 
The  quartet  sang  again,  and  the  caskets  were  lowered  into 
the  vault.  Then  they  lowered  the  giant  capstone,  and  pour 
ing  in  the  hot  lead,  they  tamped  it  as  it  slowly  cooled. 
Again  the  anvil  boomed  forth.  Again  came  the  thun 
derous  response  from  the  Castle. 

And  there  you  are,  good  Peter  Brown,  sealed  up  safe  in 
your  little  box  to  sleep  the  centuries.  When  the  Great 
Day  comes  of  the  coming  of  our  Lord,  with  His  flock 
of  snow  white  doves,  His  angelic  band  of  palm  bearers 
and  celestial  choir  of  anthem  singing  cherubim;  your 
rocky  sepulchre  will  open,  and  you  will  fly  down  to  meet 
Him  in  your  white  and  shining  robes  of  Christian  faith 
and  endeavor.  Down,  down,  from  this  high  reared  crag 
of  the  Great  Hills.  Down,  down,  to  the  shores  of  the 
great  'blue  ocean,  where  will  set  His  judgment  throne; 
down  where  the  countless  dead  of  the  Sea,  shall  rise  up 
to  meet  the  myriad  dead  of  the  Mountains  and  the  Plains. 

It  was  a  glorious  but  terrible  day  for  Standish.  After 
supper,  as  Shep  and  he  sat  alone  in  the  tiny  cottage,  he 
heard  a  footstep  outside,  followed  by  a  timid  knock  on  thd 
door. 

"A  package  for  you,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  a  voice  as  he 
opened  the  door. 

"All  right,  Charlie,"  he  replied,  recognizing  the  son 
of  the  hotel  proprietor  in  Plume,  "won't  you  come  in?" 

"Nope,"  replied  the  boy,  "got  to  get  right  back,  ma's 
sick." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        115 

"  Good  night,  then,  and  many  thanks  for  coming  up," 
said  Standish,  as  he  closed  the  door. 

Then  he  opened  the  package. 

It  contained  a  dozen  beautiful  American  Beauty  roses, 
tied  with  a  lavender  colored  ribbon.  Pinned  to  the  rib 
bon  was  a  card  which  read  as  follows: 

"  Mr.  Standish  Brown,  my  other  son,  please  accept  our  sin 
cere  sympathy  in  your  sad  bereavement." 

It  was  signed,  "Mrs.  Mary  Rogan,"  but  the  chirography 
was  that  of  Mollie's. 

A  touch  of  something  sweet  came  over  him.  Name 
less,  voiceless,  tender.  It  was  the  touch  of  a  woman's 
loving  sympathy,  and  as  he  looked  at  Mollie's  old  love 
star  shining  over  yonder  in  the  skies  of  his  soul,  he 
smiled.  Evidently  from  the  color  of  the  flowers  they 
had  thought  of  him,  the  living,  knowing  that  the  dead 
was  more  than  bountifully  remembered. 

That  night,  he  placed  the  roses  upon  one  of  the  pillows 
of  his  bed,  where  he  and  his  father  had  slept  together  for 
many  years  in  the  winter  time,  on  account  of  the  father's 
rheumatism.  He  tucked  the  long  stems  under  the  sheets, 
and  the  fair  flowers  smiled  down  upon  him  from  the  pil 
low,  instead  of  his  father's  beloved  old  face.  Shep  slept 
at  his  feet  and  warmed  them.  The  notebook  which  con 
tained  his  father's  death  letter,  he  put  under  his  own 
pillow,  and  the  precious  violin  and  bow,  he  had  taken 
from  their  case  and  put  on  a  chair  beside  the  bed,  where 
he  could  reach  them  if  he  wanted  to.  And  then,  staring 
up  at  the  flowers  with  great  wistful  eyes,  he  wished  that 
he  might  not  wake  in  the  morning,  for  the  road  ahead  of 
him  seemed  so  long  and  steep  without  his  dear  old  pal. 

How  long  he  lay  thus,  he  did  not  know.  But  soon  Shep 
began  to  snore.  The  restless  mountain  wind  sang  dis 
mally  in  the  chimney  top.  The  fire  died  out.  The  night 
closed  in,  and  at  last  he  slept, 


BOOK    FOUR 

THE    PHENOMENA    OF    A    SHADOW 


CHAPTER    I 

ONE  afternoon  in  the  spring  of  1893,  an  old  man 
sat  upon  a  bench  in  the  Union  Depot  in  Denver. 
Upon  his  lap  was  a  little  girl,  and  beside  them  was 
a  carpet  bag  containing  their  entire  belongings. 

They  were  Italians.  Grandfather,  Ferrari  Lorenzo. 
Granddaughter,  Fiorina  Lorenzo. 

Here  in  this  great  flux  of  nations,  America,  the  author 
must  ever  resort  to  the  "fatherland"  of  his  character,  in 
order  to  give  that  character  a  faithful  portrayal. 

The  great  French  master,  Balzac,  writes  mostly  of 
Frenchmen.  You  instinctively  feel  this,  and  his  words 
confirm  it.-  In  spite  of  his  magnificent  creation,  "La 
Comedie  Humaine,"  it  will  never  stand  for  anything 
but  French  society,  a  mere  department  of  that  greater, 
world  wide,  universal  human  society. 

Dickens,  in  foggy  London,  writes  of  the  English. 

D'Annunzio  writes  of  Italians. 

A  foreign  author  can  likewise  portray  to  his  readers 
with  comparative  safety,  an  American  character.  His 
very  mention  of  the  name,  American,  conveying  a  de 
cidedly  fresh,  New  World  atmosphere.  His  reader  im 
mediately  comprehending  in  a  general  sense,  that  New 
World  atmosphere  which  so  strongly  marks  the  personal 
ity  of  the  typical  American.  It  scarcely  matters  whether 
the  character  is  a  native  of  Brazil,  Mexico,  Alabama,  or 
British  Columbia,  for  the  ordinary  foreign  reader  has  no 
difficulty  in  immediately  identifying  him,  as  coming  from 
that  wonderous  eldorado,  America. 

But  here,  in  these  United  States,  in  this  vast  pot-pourri 

117 


118        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  all  nations,  we  cannot  speak  of  Americans  in  that 
general  sense.  Such  a  term  conveys  no  local  meaning  to 
American  readers. 

When  a  contemporary  American  author  describes  a 
character  as  coming  from  Missouri,  Illinois,  California, 
New  York,  Maine,  or  any  other  of  the  numerous  states 
composing  the  Union,  it  conveys  absolutely  no  meaning 
of  the  pedigree  of  his  character.  In  colonial  times  such 
distinctions  might,  indeed,  truly  convey  a  certain  sense 
of  one's  ancestry,  as  the  people  of  the  different  colonies 
largely  retained  the  original  characteristics  of  the  first 
settlers.  But  since  that  time,  the  original  colonial  lines 
have  succumbed  to  a  tremendous  influx  of  foreigners,  and 
today  all  the  States  are  people  by  a  vast  cosmopolitan 
population  of  Negroes,  Bohemians,  Hibernians,  Italians, 
Chinese,  Japranese,  Scandinavians,  Germans,  English, 
Russians,  Jews,  etc.,  together  with  a  sprinkling  of  nearly 
every  other  nation  of  the  globe. 

Nay !  To  convey  a  true  idea  of  American  ancestry,  the 
mention  of  a  locality,  the  state,  community,  or  city,  does 
not  to  any  great  degree  qualify  or  enlighten  one  as  to  the 
character.  The  author  being  absolutely  forced  to  revert 
to  the  original  fatherland  for  a  pedigree.  Thusly: 

"  He  comes  of  good  old  English  stock."  "  He  is  a 
Scotchman."  "  He  comes  from  the  Emerald  Isle."  "  They 
are  Sephardic  Jews."  "  He  is  of  Puritan  descent."  "  She 
is  a  French  Creole."  "They  are  Russians." 

And  with  this  information,  or  that  of  a  like  character, 
mentioning  either  directly  or  indirectly  the  fatherland, 
the  character  is  instantly  clothed  in  the  sublime  garments 
of  history.  The  mind  immediately  rolls  back  to  the 
glorious  epoch  of  the  character's  fatherland,  and  in  the 
return  surge,  deposits  the  character  thus  illumed  upon 
the  shores  of  the  New  World. 

Thus  this  "old  country"  atmosphere,  blended  with  the 
state,  ^city,  or  country  life  of  the  New  World,  is  the  basic 
principle  of  describing  American  character.  The  father 
land  always  first,  the  American  atmosphere  second;  i.  e., 
always  excepting  "native  Indians  and  minors  not  taxed," 
following  the  language  of  certain  legislative  acts. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         119 

Ferrari  Lorenzo  was  an  Italian,  a  Calabrian.  He  was 
also  a  Red  Shirt,  a  legionary  of  Garibaldi.  One  of  those 
who  ate  fire  at  Rome  in  1849,  and  drank  blood  at  Milazzo 
in  1860.  He  was  one  of  the  Immortal  Thousand  who 
finally  drove  the  Bourbons  from  unhappy  Sicily. 

This  dried  up,  thin  visaged  old  immigrant,  was  one  of 
the  immortal  Garibaldian  band  who  shouted  "  Rome  or 
Death!"  on  the  bloody  field  of  Mentana  in  1867,  only  to 
fall  before  the  deadly  fire  of  the  French  and  Papal  sol 
diery.  That  deep  scar  upon  his  left  temple  is  a  certificate 
of  glory.  It  was  furrowed  by  a  ball  from  a  French  chasse- 
pot.  Besides  receiving  that  scar,  Ferrari  also  lost  a  son 
at  Mentana.  A  mere  stripling,  who  lived  long  enough 
to  hold  up  a  musket  in  the  cause  of  suffering  Italy,  and 
become  a  martyr  for  his  country.  Shot  down  in  the 
cause  of  united  Italy.  Like  a  beautiful  flower  which 
opens  up  on  a  bright  morning  of  early  spring,  and 
perishes  at  night,  in  the  deadly  bite  of  a  belated  winter 
frost,  he  died  in  Ferrari's  arms. 

As  the  grief-stricken  father  kissed  the  death-whitened 
brow  of  his  .son,  his  own  red  blood  fell  from  the  wound 
in  his  temple  and  streaked  the  dying  boy's  fair  pale 
brow. 

Ferrari's  hair  had  already  become  gray  in  the  cause 
of  united  Italy.  At  the  death  of  his  boy  it  became  snow 
white.  The  heart  is  a  greater  bleacher  of  human  hair 
than  the  soul. 

After  Mentana,  the  Red  Shirts  were  transferred  from 
living  action  into  the  pages  of  history  sublime. 

Another  boy,  a  younger  son  of  Ferrari,  lived  long 
enough  to  be  the  father  of  little  Fiorina.  Both  he  and 
the  wife  passed  away  by  a  visitation  of  the  cholera  in 
the  city  of  Naples.  Ferrari's  own  wife,  like  Anita,  the 
brave  wife  of  Garibaldi,  died  from  the  effects  of  following 
her  heroic  husband  thru  a  campaign  of  dire  want  and 
exposure  in  the  lost  cause  of  republican  Italy.  Thus 
Ferrari  emerged  from  this  black  night  of  glory  and 
misery,  alone,  save  for  his  little  granddaughter,  Fiorina. 
She  was  the  sole  survivor  of  his  family. 

The  burden  of  his  sixty  years,  added  to  the  weight  of 


120        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

his  terrible  trials,  did  not,  however,  extinguish  the  fierce 
republican  flame  which  still  burned  within  his  indomit 
able  soul.  Which  is  a  sacred  flame,  burning  inextinguish 
ably  even  to  this  day  within  the  souls  of  thousands  of  the 
brave  sons  of  Italy. 

Banderia,  Ciceruacchio,  Mazzini,  Garibaldi.  The 
brightest  stars  in  the  glorious  firmament  of  Italy. 

Republicanism  had  set  Ferrari's  soul  aflame. 

But  alas!  Triumphant  royalty.  Victorious  Popery. 
The  King  and  the  Priest. 

When  Mazzini  died,  the  candle  flickered  in  its  socket. 
When  Garibaldi  died,  the  last  great  light  went  out,  and 
with  it  the  near  hope  of  an  Italian  republic. 

But  Ferrari's  republican  torch  being  inextinguishable, 
he  learned  to  further  feed  its  flame  with  that  magic  name, 
AMERICA! 

The  United  States  of  America,  that  generous  sheltering 
haven  of  the  unhappy  Pole,  Hungarian,  Finn,  Armenian, 
and  Boer,  together  with  many  of  his  unfortunate 
countrymen. 

Ah!  Yes!     Sweet  hope. 

America,  the  land  of  the  free. 

Ferrari  hoped  to  enjoy  that  glorious  free  air  in  the  New 
World,  which  he  had  fought  and  bled  for  so  vainly  in  the 
Old. 

It  took  years  of  patient  saving  for  him  to  accumulate 
the  passage  money.  His  son's  funeral  ate  up  some  of  it, 
the  daughter's  sickness  and  death  absorbed  a  part  of  it, 
and  besides,  his  darling  little  Fiorina  had  to  be  fed  and 
clothed. 

So  the  years  rolled  on,  but  Ferrari  worked  and  saved 
undaunted,  and  at  threescore  and  two,  when  a  man  usu 
ally  retires  in  the  knowledge  of  his  brave  deeds  and  with 
his  accumulated  competency,  this  sturdy  old  patriot  was 
struggling  for  means  to  begin  life  all  over  again,  in  thai 
great  New  World  lying  over  a  thousand  leagues  beyond 
the  shining  Calabrian  strand,  and  on  the  further  border 
of  that  rolling  ocean  upon  which,  in  his  spare  moments, 
he  gazed  with  great  wistful  eyes. 

Having  lived  one  glorious  life  to  the  years  of  mature 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        121 

age,  he  was  to  begin  another.  He  must  cast  out  infirmity 
and  renew  his  old  veins  with  the  fresh  blood  of  youth. 
Altho  his  worn  out  anatomy  denied  him  this  divine  elixir 
of  youth,  yet  his  sublime  undaunted  spirit  furnished  it. 
Hope  made  his  heart  leap  like  a  boy's. 

Finally  he  had  saved  almost  enough  money  for  their 
passage,  and  he  was  even  daring  to  make  occasional  in 
quiries  about  the  promised  land. 

As  he  stood  one  day  upon  the  dock  at  Naples,  con 
templating  his  departure  for  the  New  World,  he  over 
heard  the  conversation  of  a  group  of  Sicilians,  who  were 
standing  upon  the  decks  of  a  steamer  that  was  tied  up 
to  the  dock,  and  which  was  about  to  depart  for  the  port 
of  New  York. 

"  Denver,"  they  said,  "the  mines  near  Denver." 

Seeing  the  transportation  agent  among  them,  Ferrari 
waited  until  the  agent  left  the  steamer,  and  going  up  to 
him,  he  said, 

"  Denver,  please  write  it  on  a  card." 

At  which  request,  the  agent  handed  him  his  business 
card,  after  writing  the  name,  "Denver,"  upon  it. 

A  few  months  later,  Ferrari  and  little  Fiorina  arrived 
at  New  York.  He  had  purchased  tickets  in  Naples  to 
carry  them  clear  thru  to  Denver.  No  one  came  to  meet 
them.  They  were  strangers  in  a  strange  land. 

Paupers. 

Pauper  immigrants. 

Ferrari  had  only  enough  money  to  keep  them  in 
victuals  from  New  York  to  Denver. 

The  Government  agent  demurred. 

Being  paupers,  they  should  be  returned  to  Italy.  They 
had  no  friends.  Could  produce  no  collateral.  Had  no  one 
to  meet  them  or  offer  a  helping  hand. 

The  interpreter  discussed  the  matter  with  Ferrari. 

Horrors!  !  ! 

This  —  this  their  reception  to  the  noble  land  of  the 
free. 

This,  the  terrible  message  to  a  great  soul  bursting  with 
hope  and  republicanism. 

Return  to  Italy !    Never !  1 


122        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

He  would  take  little  Fiorina  in  his  arms  and  jump 
overboard,  thus  sinking  his  hopes  in  the  ocean. 

Ah!  No!  It  could  not  be  so  bad.  He  would  think 
out  a  solution  of  the  problem. 

Statesmen  plan  Immigration  Acts,  "  The  restriction  of 
Immigration,"  etc. 

Congress  in  open  session  argues  the  question. 

Morbidists  with  long  drawn  faces  proclaim  the  doctrine 
of,  "Protection  from  Over  Population." 

Spasamists  cry,  "Survival  of  the  Fittest." 

Sensationalists  shout  in  wild  frenzy, "  Degenerates.  Fill 
ing  up  the  United  States  with  degenerates,  the  pauper 
scum  of  Asia  and  Europe." 

Oh,  great  Master  of  souls,  hear  our  appeal. 

Away,  destroyers  of  holy  light,  crushers  of  hope, 
smotherers  of  sweet  charity. 

Up  men! 

Brothers,  Christians!     Israelites!  ! 

God  made  man  in  His  own  image. 

Are  we  to  destroy  His  glorious  creation? 

We,  who  ourselves  came  to  this  virgin  New  World  of 
America,  with  timorous  hope  upon  our  lips. 

We,  the  sons  of  those  fathers,  who  settled  here  upon 
the  broad  land  and  formed  a  commonwealth  of  free 
people.  Can  we  deny  our  fellowmen  that  same  glorious 
privilege  ? 

Shut  these  glorious  doors  of  Liberty  in  the  face  of  the 
poor  immigrant? 

Never ! 

As  well  close  the  sublime  portals  of  heaven,  which 
indeed  would  be  closed  upon  the  fiend  perpetrating  such 
an  outrage. 

Oh,  citizens,  congressmen,  legislatures. 

Interpret  the  full  import  of  the  divine  words  of  the 
Master. 

"Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow;  they 
toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin;  and  yet  I  say  unto  you, 
that  even  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like 
one  of  these." 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         123 

"Wherefore,  if  God  so  clothe  the  grass  of  the  field, 
which  today  is,  and  tomorrow  is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall 
He  not  much  more  clothe  you,  0  ye  of  little  faith?" 

"Therefore  take  no  thought  saying,  What  shall  we  eat? 
or,  What  shall  we  drink?  or,  Wherewithal  shall  we  be 
clothed?" 

"For  after  all  these  things  do  the  Gentiles  seek;  for 
your  heavenly  Father  knoweth  that  ye  have  need  of  all 
these  things." 

"But  seek  ye  first  the  Kingdom,  of  God,  and  his  right 
eousness;  and  all  these  things  shall  be  added  unto  you." 

"  Take  therefore  no  thought  of  the  'morrow;  for  the 
'morrow  shall  take  thought  for  the  things  of  itself.  Suf 
ficient  unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof." 

Do  we  accept  the  great  Jew,  brothers,  or  do  we  crucify 
him  again? 

"  QUO  VADIS." 

"Which  way  are  you  going?" 

To  Rome  to  exalt  a  great  cause,  or  to  Oblivion  steeped 
in  cowardice  and  selfishness  incarnate? 

To  walk  illumed  in  the  presence  of  Almighty  God,  or  to 
skulk  in  the  dark  halls  of  Lucifer? 

Having  seen  the  light  of  divinely  founded  Israelite 
brotherhood,  yea,  even  to  martyrdom,  are  we  to  plunge 
again  into  the  dark  realms  of  unholy  self? 

Shall  we  selfishly  defend  the  bone  like  the  dogs  and 
the  wolves,  or  shall  we  unselfishly  divide  the  crust  as 
true  Israelites? 

Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,  look  down  upon  your 
people,  Israel.  Feed  us  with  sweet  soul  manna.  Give 
us  the  loaf  of  Charity.  The  meat  of  universal  brother 
hood.  Tho  our  great  nation  teems  with  population  as 
the  busy  ants  in  their  hill,  still  let  us  be  led  in  the 
grandeur  of  that  sublime  faith,  Israel,  taught  by  the 
Founder  of  the  Stars. 

Our  national  motto  is,  "IN  GOD  WE  TRUST." 

Do  we  give  it  the  lie  in  practice,  or  are  we  true? 

As  Ferrari  stood  looking  apealingly  into  the  eyes  of 
the  interpreter,  he  suddenly  thought  of  something,  and 


124        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

thrusting  his  hand  into  the  depths  of  his  jacket,  he  pulled 
out  a  piece  of  oilcloth  in  which  was  wrapped  a  letter. 
He  handed  it  with  tears  in  his  eyes  to  the  interpreter. 
It  ran  as  follows, 

"  To  Whom  It  May  Concern : 

"The  bearer,  Ferrari  Lorenzo,  is  one  of  Italy's  truest  patriots. 
He  is  one  of  the  original  band  of  Red  Shirts.  A  veteran  who 
fought  at  Rome,  Milazzo,  and  Mentana.  He  is  worthy  of  all  the 
respect  and  assistance  that  can  possibly  be  shown  him. 

(Signed)  "GARIBALDI." 

Ferrari  had  kept  this  precious  paper  ever  since  the 
time,  when  the  great  hero  of  Italy  had  handed  it  to  him 
with  these  words, 

"After  Mentana,  Ferrari,  it  is  to  die.    Farewell." 

This  letter  had  helped  Ferrari  more  than  once  in  his 
native  land,  would  it  help  him  here?  Would  the  magic 
of  Garibaldi's  name  work  in  America? 

The  interpreter  translated  the  contents  of  the  letter  to 
his  chief. 

Ah,  yes,  Ferrari,  these  hospitable  shores  of  America 
once  domiciled  your  general.  He  is  known  wherever 
the  cause  of  liberty  is  known.  Garibaldi  and  Liberty  are 
still  synonymous  terms  in  America,  forgetful  as  we  have 
become. 

The  inspector  looked  once  more  into  the  appealing 
wistful  face  of  the  old  immigrant,  and  into  that  of  the 
shy,  frightened  dove  of  a  girl  hiding  behind  her  grand 
father's  jacket. 

A  follower  of  Garibaldi.  A  Red  Shrit.  One  of  the 
Immortal  Thousand! 

Enough ! 

The  inspector  respectfully  returned  the  letter  to  Fer 
rari,  and  with  a  low  bow  admitted  the  Lorenzos  to  the 
free  soil  of  America. 

Arriving  in  Denver,  Ferrari  spent  the  first  day  in  a 
vain  search  for  work. 

He  found  an  employment  agency  thru  the  medium 
of  an  Italian  fruit  vender,  -the  proprietor  of  which  was 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        125 

a  Sicilian,  who  had  little  use  for  a  Calabrian.  They  were 
almost  mortal  enemies  in  his  eyes.  The  Sicilian  happened 
to  be  of  a  low  type,  of  the  dog  nature,  the  brute.  He  had 
probably  never  heard  of  Milazzo,  that  bloody  victory  of 
united  Italy,  which  drove  the  Bourbons  from  Sicily. 

"  Still,"  reflected  the  avaricious  Sicilian,  "  I  can  make 
two  dollars  out  of  him,  even  if  he  is  a  Calabrian." 

"Give  me  two  dollars,"  he  said  to  Ferrari,  "and  I  will 
get  you  a  job  in  the  mines." 

Ferrari  opened  his  money  pouch.  It  contained  three 
dimes  and  three  pennies.  The  agent  looked  at  the  miser 
able  pittance  in  angry  disgust. 

"  Get  —  get  out  of  here,"  he  said  excitedly,  pointing 
threateningly  to  the  door.  Ferrari's  eyes  gleamed  fiercely, 
but  he  left  quietly. 

That  night,  thru  the  kindness  of  the  depot  watchman, 
Ferrari  and  Fiorina  slept  on  one  of  the  benches  in  the 
depot.  For  breakfast,  they  ate  a  dry  loaf  of  bread  and 
two  bananas,  costing  them  a  total  of  ten  cents. 

And  now,  as  Ferrari  sat  on  the  depot  bench  this  after 
noon,  after  a  vain  search  for  some  one  who  would  un 
derstand  his  speech  and  give  him  work,  he  was  wondering 
about  dinner.  So  was  little  Fiorina.  She  was  getting  just 
real  hungry.  Somehow  her  usually  gay  little  heart  was 
very  heavy,  and  as  she  sat  there  upon  her  grandfather's 
lap,  she  was  almost  ready  to  cry  from  sheer  weariness  , 
and  hunger.  A  great  gloom  was  settling  down  upon  them. 
No  money,  no  work,  no  home.  Strangers  in  a  strange 
land. 

As  they  sat  thus,  in  the  midst  of  a  great  throng  of 
passengers,  a  tall  man  came  in.  It  was  Standish  Brown. 
Upon  his  shoulders  was  a  monkey.  And  as  he  passed 
them,  Fiorina,  child  like,  sprang  from  her  grandfather's 
lap  and  leaped  and  shouted  at  the  sight  of  the  animal. 
Monkeys  and  hand-organs  in  old  Naples,  were  as  thick 
as  popcorn  venders  in  Denver  in  1903,  and  the  child  was 
wild  with  delight  in  finding  something  familiar  in  this 
great  strange  America. 

Standish  was  going  up  to  Plume  on  the  3:30  P.  M. 
train.  He  had  come  to  Denver  on  a  business  trip,  and 


126        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

quite  by  accident  had  noticed  the  animal  in  a  Sixteenth 
Street  curio  shop.  It  was  young,  intelligent,  and  of  good 
size,  and  Standish  was  much  amused  at  its  antics.  Then 
the  thought  had  suddenly  struck  him  that  the  animal 
would  be  a  good  companion  for  both  himself  and  Shep, 
and  so  he  had  bought  it  with  all  the  gusto  of  a  pleased 
child. 

As  Standish  looked  down  at  the  tiny  little  girl,  Fiorina 
was  only  eleven  years  old,  her  face  was  all  aglow  with 
eager  childish  innocence  and  play. 

Vainly  reaching  her  arms  up  to  the  chattering  animal, 
as  it  sat  perched  high  on  Standish's  shoulder,  she  fairly 
squealed  with  delight,  and  called  to  it  in  a  strange  jargon 
of  purest  affection. 

Noting  the  child's  extreme  emotion,  Standish  pulled 
Billy  down  from  his  shoulder  and  stood  him  on  a  bench. 
Instantly,  the  delighted  child,  without  the  slightest  hesi 
tation,  hugged  him  to  her  breast,  and  carried  him  over 
to  her  grandfather,  dancing  joyously  as  she  did  so.  A 
faint  gleam  of  light  came  into  the  old  man's  eyes.  He, 
too,  was  reminded  of  sunny  Naples,  and  stretching  out 
his  hand  he  also  stroked  wistfully  the  unprotesting  Billy. 

Standish  looked  at  the  depot  clock,  "3:15,"  he  had  a 
good  fifteen  minutes  yet  to  wait  before  the  train  left,  and 
becoming  deeply  interested  in  the  strange  couple,  he 
walked  over  to  them  and  began  talking  to  Ferrari.  The 
old  man  shook  his  head,  he  did  not  understand.  He 
looked  up  wistfully  at  Standish  with  his  dark  eyes,  and 
then  he  started  quite  perceptibly.  He  was  looking  into 
the  eyes  of  a  soul-man.  A  being  who  emanates  a  celestial 
light.  That  holy  light  which  is  symbolized  in  pictures 
as  a  bright  halo  or  nimbus  shining  about  the  heads  of 
the  saints.  He  had  seen  it  more  than  once  on  the  face 
of  Garibaldi  in  battle. 

Ah !  This  fine  tall  man,  must  be  the  real  true  Ameri 
can  of  his  dreams.  He  must  see.  Now  Ferrari  only  knew 
three  words  of  Anglo-Saxon.  One  was,  "Denver,"  the 
other  two  he  had  1-earned  from  the  transportation  agent 
at  Naples. 

Rising  to  his  feet,  as  Standish  stood  there  vainly  en- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        127 

deavoring  to  make  him  understand,  he  clasped  his  old 
thin  hands,  and  looking  into  Standish's  friendly  face 
beseechingly,  he  spoke  the  words,  "Me  worka." 

The  pathetic  words  went  straight  to  the  mine  owner's 
heart.  He  pulled  out  a  dollar  and  offered  it  to  the  im 
migrant.  Ferrari  shook  his  head,  and  pulling  out  his 
money  pouch,  he  emptied  its  contents  into  his  thin  crab 
fingered  hand.  Standish  looked  down.  Twenty4hree 
cents. 

"My  God,  was  it  possible,"  he  thought,  "that  this  poor 
devil,  with  a  child  to  support,  was  absolutely  alone  in  a 
strange  land,  and  possessed  of  only  twenty-three  cents?" 

Then  he  pulled  out  his  wallet  and  taking  from  it  a  ten- 
dollar  bill,  he  handed  it  to  Ferrari.  The  Italian's  eyes 
glittered,  he  knew  that  it  must  be  quite  a  sum ;  but  no, 
much  as  he  needed  the  money,  he  needed  a  friend  more. 
Once  securing  the  friendship  of  such  a  man,  the  money 
would  naturally  follow.  Thus,  tho  Ferrari  deeply  ap 
preciated  the  offer  of  money,  but  better  than  money,  his 
judgment  of  this  kind  man  must  be  vindicated.  He 
shook  his  head  again,  wringing  his  thin  hands  mutely, 
and  groaning  with  despair  that  he  could  not  make  him 
self  understood. 

"Ave  Maria!  This  is  a  heaven-sent  friend;  he  must 
never  leave  me,"  the  old  Italian  thought;  and  kneeling 
down  on  his  knees  in  front  of  the  astonished  mine  owner, 
he  clasped  his  hands  appealingly,  uttering  once  more 
the  heartrending  words,  "  Me  worka." 

It  was  too  much  for  Standish,  and  several  people  at 
tracted  by  this  strange  man  worship,  stopped  and  looked 
at  them.  The  tall  mine  owner's  heart  was  deeply  touched, 
and  thrusting  the  bill  back  into  the  wallet,  he  lifted 
Ferrari  to  his  feet.  He  felt  sure  that  the  old  fellow  was 
an  Italian,  from  the  peculiar  dialect  with  which  he  spoke 
the  two  words;  and  also  his  unmistakable  dark,  swarthy 
complexion,  and  the  light  olive  shade  of  the  girl's.  He 
proposed  to  take  them  up  the  street  and  find  some  dago 
fruit  vender  wrhom  he  could  use  as  an  interpreter,  and 
thus  he  would  learn  the  immigrant's  story.  His  train  was 
due  to  leave  now.  Yes,  it  was  too  late  to  catch  it.  Be- 


128        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

sides,  he  wouldn't  have  taken  Billy  from  the  arms  of  'that 
beautiful  dancing  child  for  a  million  dollars.  So  motion 
ing  Ferrari  to  follow  him,  the  queer  trio,  with  Fiorina 
carrying  the  monkey,  went  up  the  street. 

Thru  the  medium  of  a  fruit  vender,  Ferrari  -told  his 
story,  also  producing  Garibaldi's  letter,  which  was  read 
by  the  vender  with  considerable  interest.  Standish  was 
quite  familiar  with  the  history  of  Garibaldi  and  his  im 
mortal  legion  of  Red  jShirts,  and  his  heairt  warmed 
strangely  toward  the  pair.  And  —  and  all  Ferrari  asked 
was  work. 

"  Here  is  a  genuine  case  of  charity,"  thought  the  mine 
owner.  "I  will  take  him  and  the  girl  up  to  Plume,  and 
set  him  at  some  light  work  in  the  mine."  This  decided, 
he  informed  the  delighted  Ferrari,  and  they  sought  the 
nearest  eating  place. 

They  caused  quite  a  bit  of  amusement  in  the  restaurant. 
Billy  was  given  a  place  at  the  same  table  with  them,  sit 
ting  in  a  high  chair  beside  his  owner,  who  was  forced  to 
suppress  his  frantic  grabbings  at  the  food  several  times. 
Little  Fiorina  was  in  heaven.  How  she  laughed  at  the 
antics  of  Billy  as  Standish  fed  him  a  pickle. 

And  how  happy  old  Ferrari  was.  In  his  soul  blossomed 
a  great  hope.  "A  home  in  America,  the  land  of  the 
free." 

The  next  day  the  queerly-assorted  party  arrived  in 
Plume.  Old  Micky  Rourke  happened  to  be  at  the  depot 
when  the  train  pulled  in.  And  as  he  viewed  the  outfit 
coming  down  the  platform  his  eyes  fairly  bulged  with 
astonishment. 

"Holy  Mither  of  Moses!"  he  ejaculated,  "shure,  he's 
got  it  all  but  the  hand-organ  and  -the  penny-box." 

And  as  they  passed,  Micky  called  after  them,  "I  sup 
pose,  Misther  Brown,  the  hand-organ's  comin'  up  on  the 
nixt  thrain?" 

Standish  and  the  onlookers  laughed  heartily  at  the 
Irishman's  remark,  and  the  little  group  of  depot  loungers 
stared  in  mild  astonishment,  as  he  and  his  new-found 
friends  passed  up  the  trail  to  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  II 

Standish  was  thirty-three  years  old.  He  was  of  that 
type  of  individuals  who  mature  slowly.  The  boy  was 
still  clinging  to  his  form,  actions,  and  to  his  soul. 

He  romped  with  Shep  with  all  the  enjoyment  of  a  lad 
of  twelve,  and  he  often  wondered  if  he  would  ever  be 
come  a  real  man.  If  he  would  ever  have  a  positive,  settled, 
definite  thought  about  people  and  events.  So  far  in  life, 
he  had  seemed  always  to  swim  in  a  great  sea  of  indefinite 
ideas,  vague  uncertainties,  intangible  questionings.  But 
unknown  to  him,  his  thought  was  in  that  period  of  gesta 
tion  which  invariably  precedes  the  birth  of  maturity. 
How  he  longed  to  reach  a  solid  rock  of  certainty  amid 
the  dizzy  whirlpool  of  his  ideas.  Some  sure  place  of 
refuge,  where  he  could  rest  from  the  fierce  buffetings  of 
those  towering  billows  of  wild  indiscriminate  mental 
action. 

In  the  two  years  which  had  elapsed  since  his  father's 
death,  he  had  sought  the  solace  of  books.  Not  books  of 
mining,  of  science,  or  of  engineering;  but  just  plain,  com 
mon  books. 

But  what  treasuries. 

Rare  constellations  of  heavenly  luminaries. 

Bouquets  of  soul  flowers,  handfuls  of  bleeding  hearts, 
filling  his  soul  with  divine  fragrance. 

Roaming  with  Cooper  among  the  haunts  of  the  Mo 
hicans.  Learning  to  stalk  the  deer;  to  cast  the  fly  upon 
the  glassy  bosom  of  the  forest-fringed  lake ;  and  from  this 
same  inimitable  Cooper,  learning  to  sail  out  upon  the 
great  blue  ocean,  and  to  navigate  the  most  distant  storm- 
tossed  seas. 

With  Irving,  he  made  merry  with  the  New  World 
Dutchmen,  and  from  the  summit  of  the  well-remembered 
mountain,  he  watched  the  weird  play  of  the  goblins  in 
their  thunder-reverberating  game  of  ninepins. 

129 


130        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

From  Dickens,  he  learned  the  life  of  the  "poor  in 
spirit,"  to  love  the  lowly,  to  weep  silently  in  some  dark 
corner  as  gentle  eyes  beaming  pathetically  from  sweet, 
tender  faces,  looked  up  into  the  face  of  God,  and  smiled 
their  thanks  for  all  their  misery. 

With  Thackeray,  he  learned  to  nibble  olelightfully  the 
dry  crust  of  Humor,  and  to  sip  the  sparkling  glass  of 
Satire. 

With  Lever,  he  donned  scarlet  jacket,  white  breeches, 
and  shining  boots;  to  dash  gayly  after  the  loud  baying 
hounds  upon  the  back  of  a  great  roan  mount. 

With  Scott,  he  fought  the  infidels,  and  manfully  battled 
with  chivalrous  armed  knights  from  behind  a  great  shield. 
He  broke  lances  with  "Ivanhoe,"  and  dashed  gallantly 
after  wild  "  Rob  Roy."  He  read  rare  inscriptions  on 
tombstones  with  "  Old  Mortality,"  and  enjoyed  the  queen 
ly  revel  of  the  stately  halls  of  "  Kenilworth." 

After  the  long  leap  across  the  Atlantic,  from  America 
to  the  shores  of  "merry  England,"  it  was  but  a  short 
jump  across  the  Channel  to  France.  And  what  a  jump ! 

From  an  English  fair,  to  a  French  jolly  making. 

From  the  rare  fragrance  of  English  roses,  to  the  white, 
yet  blood-stained  lillies  of  France. 

Dumas  peopled  his  soul  with  gay  cavaliers.  He  parried 
rapier  thrusts  with  D'Artagan,  plotted  with  Aramis,  ate 
and  drank  prodigiously  with  the  lusty  Athos. 

Balzac  introduced  him  to  gentle  "Eugenia  Grandet." 
For  days  she  haunted  his  soul,  as  noble  a  creature  as  ever 
sprang  from  an  artist's  brain.  He  wept  at  the  death  of 
"  Pere  Goriot,"  and  at  the  tragic  death  of  "  Cousin  Pons," 
he  almost  fainted. 

By  this  time,  all  the  strings  of  the  great  harp  of  fiction 
were  in  place,  save  the  heavy  bassos. 

Hugo  furnished  these,  and  Standish  strung  them  in 
place  with  "Jean  Valjean,"  "Fantine,"  "Claude  Frollo," 
"  Quasimodo." 

But  enough!  These  masters  have  surveyed  the  world, 
cut  it  up  into  acreage,  blocks,  streets,  and  lots. 

Occasionally  a  pretentious  and  widely-exploited  modern 
novel  parades  the  streets  of  contemporary  literature  with 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        131 

all  the  blare  and  gusto  of  a  village  brass  band;  but  when 
it  enters  the  "  Big  Show"  tent  of  the  Past,  and  is  stilled 
by  the  grand  concert  band  of  the  masters,  it  stacks  its 
crude  instruments  upon  the  green,  and  from  the  side 
lines  gapes  at  the  great  circus  with  open  mouth  and 
delighted  mien. 

A  volume  of  the  masters  1 

Mere  white  pages  printed  in  black  type. 

Yet  what  grief-stricken  mortal  having  read  these  ce 
lestial  luminaries,  can  ever  know  a  sorrow  which  cannot 
be  soothed,  or  know  a,  heart  hunger  that  cannot  be  ap 
peased?  What  pessimistic  man  or  woman,  can  ever  gaze 
upward  at  these  bright  and  shining  stars,  and  solemnly 
affirm,  that  there  is  no  joy? 

Thus,  Standish,  overwhelmed  with  grief  at  the  loss 
of  his  parent,  was  assuaged  and  soothed  by  the  books 
of  the  masters.  In  the  delicious  and  confidential  com 
pany  of  these  precious  volumes  he  found  that  romance 
and  experience  which  could  not  be  found  in  the  life 
about  him. 

Dull,  ignorant,  tho  honest  and  simple  miners.  Their 
monotonous  vocation  was  deeply  reflected  in  the  grim 
stolidity  of  their  features.  To  tap  the  drill,  and  explode 
the  blast  in  the  bowels  of  the  mountains,  this  was  their 
life.  Heedless  alike  of  the  wild  storms  outside,  or  the 
song  of  the  laughing  stream  which  filled  the  gulch,  they 
fought  the  dull  granite  and  dug  the  ore.  In  their  homes 
they  sought  the  silent  joys  of  the  family. 

The  mine  where  they  earned  their  bread. 

The  cottage  where  they  ate  it. 

This  was  their  sole  existence,  unless,  alas,  if  one  men 
tions  a  peculiar  weakness  for  drink  and  gaming. 

Such  a  life  has  few  attractions  for  a  bright,  singing, 
soaring  soul. 

Its  terrible  monotony,  its  inflexible  regularity,  its  deadly 
sameness;  eventually  blights  and  slays  the  soul.  It  pro 
duces  an  intellectual  dry  rot,  which  is  succeeded  by  mental 
dissolution. 

In  spite  of  his  books,  however,  Standish  was  not  en 
tirely  removed  from  that  great  sea  of  mental  uncertainty 


132        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

which  so  deeply  agitated  him.  But,  and  he  knew  it  not 
then,  all  the  rough  buffeting  of  these  tremendous  thought 
billows,  were  slowly  but  surely  training  his  intellect. 

In  the  presence  of  the  greatest  Doubt,  is  often  born 
the  greatest  Certainty. 

Standish's  individuality  was  gradually  fashioning  out 
a  craft  with  which  he  could  safely  navigate  the  great 
ocean  of  Mind. 

Such  a  craft  is  built  by  all  those  individuals  who  seek 
to  build.  But  if  the  individual  is  satisfied  to  merely  drift, 
he  is  fated  to  toss  aimlessly  about  upon  the  wild  seas  of 
life,  completely  at  the  mercy  of  the  seething,  raging,  un 
controlled  elements  of  Mind. 

Thus  a  brave,  mastery-seeking  individual,  swimming 
blindly  at  first  in  the  vast  abyss  of  the  intellect,  and  com 
pletely  at  the  mercy  of  the  tumbling  waters  of  the  present 
and  past  ages  of  thought,  is  often  discouraged. 

But  giving  it  a  chance,  once  arousing  the  inclination, 
this  same  swimmer,  this  inner  self,  this  heroic  ego  we  call 
the  individual,  will  gradually  fashion  out  a  thought  craft, 
by  which  to  navigate  the  boundless  sea  of  the  intellect.  A 
board  here,  a  rope  there,  and  at  last  a  sail;  and  in  the 
niaturer  years,  this  swimmer,  this  dauntless  individual, 
having  once  built  his  ship,  paces  the  firm  deck  of  his 
craft  serenely  as  it  plows  thru  billowy  seas,  and  lands 
him  safe  at  last  in  the  secure  haven  of  Knowledge. 

But  Standish  did  not  forget  his  business  interests  in 
spite  of  his  many  hours  of  book  revel.  He  adjusted  the 
large  estate  of  his  father.  It  was  a  simple  matter,  as  he 
was  the  only  heir.  He  really  could  not  comprehend  the 
great  extent  of  his  riches.  And  while  it  amazed  the 
court,  it  did  not  in  the  least  change  Standish's  mode  of 
living.  He  occupied  the  same  cottage  which  had  formerly 
sheltered  them,  Shep  and  Billy  were  his  only  companions 
therein,  and  he  still  cooked  his  own  meals. 

The  mine  still  produced  large  quantities  of  rich  ore,  and 
new  ore  bodies  were  being  constantly  discovered  and 
developed.  The  hoard  in  Denver  had  been  greatly  in 
creased  since  his  father's  death,  and  at  each  annual  set- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        133 

tlement  with  the  Colonel,  the  bundle  of  securities  and  in 
vestments  grew  fatter  and  fatter. 

Maintaining  the  splendid  wage  plan  of  his  father, 
Standish  cared  for  his  men  royally,  but  the  only  really 
systematic  philanthropy  he  indulged  in,  was  celebrating 
Christmas  among  the  people  of  Plume.  This  cost  him 
several  thousand  dollars  every  year,  but  oh,  the  joy  it 
brought  him,  as  well  as  the  good  people  of  the  village. 
The  joy  of  giving,  the  joy  of  receiving.  Every  family 
in  Plume  was  remembered,  not  only  with  a  generous 
stock  of  substantial  for  the  use  of  the  entire  household, 
but  also  choice  individual  gifts  given  to  the  different  mem 
bers  of  the  family.  He  employed  a  man  for  sixty  days 
in  advance  of  the  holiday  in  compiling  a  list  of  prospective 
recipients,  and  purchasing  the  supplies  and  gifts  from 
wholesale  houses  in  the  city.  And  for  many  days  after 
Christmas,  the  gulch  rang  with  the  joyful  shouts  of  happy 
children  playing  with  their  toys,  and  was  warmed  with 
many  a  smile  and  sigh  of  contentment  from  their  elders 
in  the  possession  of  some  long-coveted  comfort, 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Lorenzos  lived  in  a  tiny  cottage  in  Plume,  which 
was  located  only  a  few  feet  from  the  creek.  Fortune  had 
treated  them  kindly  since  they  arrived.  Standish  em 
ployed  Ferrari  at  odds  and  ends  about  the  mine,  and  in 
the  course  of  time,  he  became  the  general  utility  man, 
being  allowed  his  own  time  and  convenience  for  the  work ; 
for  in  consideration  of  the  Italian's  advanced  years, 
Standish  gave  him  all  the  privileges  possible. 

Ferrari  did  not  abuse  this  confidence,  proving  himself 
a  capable  and  conscientious  workman.  He  soon  began  to 
pick  up  quite  a  smattering  of  Anglo-Saxon,  not  only  thru 
his  daily  contact  with  his  employer  and  the  men,  but 
also  from  the  precocious  Fiorina,  who  attended  the  vil 
lage  school,  and  who,  altho  rapidly  acquiring  the  language 
of  the  States,  could  never  quite  shake  off  her  peculiar 
Italian  accent. 

"She  is  very  bright  and  lady-like,"  the  teacher  said  one 
day,  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  from  Standish. 

Fiorina  kept  the  cottage  as  neat  as  wax,  for  Ferrari  was 
a  strict,  tho  gentle  parent.  Standish  maintained  a  deep 
and  affectionate  interest  in  his  proteges.  He  gave  many 
little  gifts  to  both  Ferrari  and  Fiorina,  and  Fiorina  often 
visited  him  at  his  cottage  to  keep  up  her  acquaintance 
with  Billy.  Standish  invariably  giving  her  an  apple,  an 
orange,  or  some  sweetmeat  to  take  home  with  her.  Her 
childish  prattle  was  a  great  treat  to  him,  and  during  her 
vacations  she  spent  many  hours  in  his  company. 

She  was  a  beautiful  child,  with  dark-brown,  curly  hair, 
and  light,  olive  complexion.  Her  plump  cheeks  were 
tinged  with  bright  carmine,  and  she  possessed  an  exquisite 
form,  and  one  that  was  developing  and  maturing  very 
rapidly,  as  is  usual  with  the  women  of  the  southern  races. 
Her  languishing  brown  eyes  were  the  perfection  of  optical 
expression.  When  they  spoke,  the  long  curling  lashes 

135 


136        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

leaped  eagerly  to  kiss  them,  and,  in  fact,  her  whole  dainty 
body,  constantly  qui  vive,  seemed  to  dilate  instantly  and 
spontaneously  to  express  the  rare  thought  playing  within 
her  diaphanous  soul. 

If  she  was  merry,  her  eyes  danced,  her  lips  parted  in 
a  lovely  smile,  her  arms  and  hands  were  gracefully  ex 
tended,  her  body  lightly  poised;  and  every  line  and 
muscle  of  her  perfect  anatomy  seemed  to  move  to  the 
rhythm  of  her  laughing  soul. 

When  she  was  sad,  which  was  seldom,  her  figure  in 
stantly  drooped  with  the  swiftness  of  a  passion  flower,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  her  hands  wrould  go  to  her  eyes,  and 
her  whole  body  would  instinctivly  shrink  from  the  object 
which  made  her  weep,  or  the  thought  which  made  her  sad. 
She  was,  indeed,  a  true  Latin. 

Ah,  Italy !    Fair  Italy ! 

Dear  fatherland  of  passionate  music,  exquisite  art, 
flawless  beauty. 

Nelson  and  Rourke,  observing  the  apparent  "pull" 
which  Ferrari  had  with  their  employer,  were  somewhat 
inclined  to  be  jealous.  Standish  observing  it  in  them,  in 
vited  all  three  of  them  into  his  cottage  one  evening. 
Seating  them  by  the  fire,  he  opened  up  a  history  of  Italy, 
which  he  had  recently  purchased,  and  he  read  aloud  to 
them  a  graphic  description  of  the  battle  of  Mentana. 
Ferrari  could  not  make  much  of  it,  but  he  comprehended 
enough  to  know  that  the  subject  was  that  of  his  beloved 
Italy  and  Garibaldi. 

After  finishing  the  account,  Standish  explained  to  the 
two  foremen  Ferrari's  part  in  the  battle;  of  how  he  had 
lost  a  son  upon  that  bloody  field,  and  of  how  the  scar 
on  Ferrari's  temple  had  been  made  by  a  bullet  from  a 
Frenchman's  chassepot.  Then  he  asked  Ferrari  for  Gari 
baldi's  letter,  and  showing  the  men  the  great  Italian's 
signature,  and  explaining  to  them  the  contents  of  the 
epistle,  as  it  had  been  translated  to  him  by  the  fruit 
vender  in  Denver,  he  looked  up  at  them  in  mild  reproach. 

The  two  men  looked  silently  into  the  dark,  sorrowful 
eyes  of  the  white-haired  old  hero,  and  being  only  human, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        137 

they  could  not  fail  to  render  tribute  to  hoary  heroic  man 
hood.  Red  arose  and  silently  extending  his  hand  to 
Ferrari,  gripped  it  until  the  old  veteran  fairly  winced. 
Nelson  did  the  same,  and  from  that  time  on  there  was  a 
perfect  understanding  between  them.  Brave  men  ap 
preciating  another  brave  man.  And  Ferrari  there 
after  held  a  place  among  the  men  of  the  40  Rounds, 
that  was  in  a  niche  by  itself.  It  was  almost  a  shrine. 

Ferrari  liked  his  life  in  Plume  for  the  very  reason  that 
the  widow  Rogan  had  disliked  it.  She  wanted  to  be  near 
a  priest.  Ferrari  did  not,  he  hated  them.  He  wanted 
to  be  as  far  removed  from  them  as  possible. 

Ah!  Humanity,  humanity!  How  art  thou  likened 
unto  the  ever  changing  cloud,  which,  from  the  valley 
shines  resplendent  in  the  sun,  a  thing  of  glory ;  while  on 
the  mountain-side,  that  same  beautiful  cloud  has  assumed 
a  terrible  aspect  to  the  traveler  whom  it  is  pitilessly 
drenching  to  the  skin.  Mrs.  Rogan  had  seen  only  the 
great  glory  of  Rome  in  a  free,  enlightened  land,  the  snowy 
fleece  of  the  cloud,  as  it  were ;  while  Ferrari  had  seen  only 
the  great  misery  of  it  in  a  land  of  bigotry  and  supersti 
tion,  the  pitiless  rain  of  it  as  it  had  beat  down  upon  him 
on  the  mountain-side  of  his  bitter  experience. 

One  evening,  as  Standish  stood  in  the  doorway  of  his 
cottage  watching  the  sunset,  Ferrari,  who  was  on  his  way 
home,  stopped  in  front  of  him.  Seizing  his  employer's 
hand,  and  kneeling  down,  he  looked  earnestly  upward  into 
the  face  of  the  tall  mine  owner,  whose  soul  shone  forth 
to  him  as  a  beacon  across  stormy  seas. 

"  Ave  Maria,"  he  said  fervently,  "  I  finda  ze  one  place, 
no  king,  no  dama  priest.  Ah,  Stando,  ze  sweet  land  of 
liberty!"  and  kissing  his  employer's  hand  affectionately, 
he  disappeared  down  the  trail. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  1893,  came  the  CRASH! 

The  Baring  failure  started  it.  A  few  months  later, 
the  mints  of  India  discontinued  the  coinage  of  silver. 
The  congress  of  the  United  States  met  in  special  session, 
seeking  the  enactment  of  relief  measures.  Stagnation  in 
the  East,  became  a  panic  in  the  West.  By  the  repeal 
of  the  "Sherman  Act,"  silver  received  what  seemed  a 
death  blow.  At  one  stroke,  its  values  fell  one-half. 

In  July,  many  banks  went  under  thruout  the  State. 
The  bottom  seemed  to  drop  out  of  everything.  Even  the 
owners  of  Government  bonds  could  not  realize  on  them, 
such  was  the  extreme  trepidation  of  banking  circles  in 
Denver.  Nothing  talked  but  cold  cash.  With  it  you  de 
fended  your  holdings.  Without  it,  you  went  to  the  wall. 

The  first  actual  touch  of  the  panic  felt  in  Plume,  was 
the  sudden  shut-down  of  the  great  Pay  Rock  mine.  Only 
the  engineers  and  firemen  were  retained  in  order  to  keep 
the  giant  pumps  moving.  All  the  miners,  muckers,  ore 
sorters,  timekeepers,  etc.,  were  laid  off  indefinitely,  and 
with  but  two  exceptions,  the  other  mines  in  the  district 
followed  suit. 

True  to  his  conservative  instinct,  Thomas  Bayard, 
president  of  the  Sampson-Smith  corporation,  did  not  make 
a  complete  shut-down  of  the  producing  forces  of  that 
property,  but  reduced  his  force  to  about  one-third  the 
usual  number.  He  intended  to  keep  things  moving  a 
little,  for  perhaps  things  were  not  as  bad  as  they  seemed. 
He  had  weathered  some  severe  financial  storms  before, 
and  with  the  property  producing  a  little,  it  wouldn't  be  so 
hard  to  start  up  when  the  storm  blew  over.  Even-tem 
pered,  cool,  conservative,  Thomas  Bayard  was  a  power 
in  Denver.  Naturally,  a  modest,  silent  man,  he  spoke  only 

139 


140        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

upon  rare  occasions,  but  when  he  did  speak,  his  peers 
listened  attentively. 

The  ores  mined  in  the  Pay  Eock  district  were  com 
posed  almost  entirely  of  silver  and  lead,  gold  and  copper 
values  being  more  limited.  With  silver  a  drug  on  the 
market,  at  one-half  its  former  value,  it  became  a  serious 
question  with  many  of  the  mines,  whose  ores  were  almost 
exclusively  of  the  white  metal,  as  to  whether  a  ton  of  ore 
could  possibly  be  made  to  pay  the  expense  of  mining, 
milling,  transportation,  and  smelter  charges. 

Where  a  generous  profit  had  been  made  from  the  ores 
produced  from  the  district  previous  to  the  panic  of  1893, 
it  then  became  gravely  doubtful  as  to  whether  the  ore 
would  even  pay  the  expense  of  mining. 

Things  had  started  on  the  downward  grade  swiftly.  No 
one  dared  predict  to  what  level  values  and  credits  might 
eventually  sink,  the  confidence  of  years  was  swept  away 
in  a  single  day.  The  terrible  phenomenon  of  the  panic, 
that  of  absolute  financial  terrorism ;  whirling,  maddened, 
frenzied,  unreasoning,  blind  stampede,  seemed  implanted 
'in  every  soul.  Betraying  and  exhibiting  the  same  identi 
cal  symptoms  and  actions,  as  the  same  phenomenon  does 
upon  -the  field  of  battle,  among  the  flying  herds,  during  a 
great  earthquake,  or  in  a  dreadful  conflagration. 

The  merchants  of  Plume  soon  began  to  feel  the  strain. 
How  could  they  extend  credit  to  men,  who  were  not  only 
idle,  but  who  were  actually  without  the  slightest  prospect 
of  future  employment?  Mining  was  the  sole  industry 
of  the  gulch,  ore  the  sole  product,  and  with  the  shut-down 
of  the  mines,  production  ceased. 

Little  groups  of  miners  talked  over  the  situation  upon 
the  street  corners  of  the  village,  and  they  soon  became 
utterly  discouraged  with  the  dark  outlook.  The  papers 
from  Denver  were  optimistic  and  hopeful  —  and  whoever 
read  a  local  paper  that  wasn't  —  but  still  they  kept  grimly 
on  recording  fresh  disasters,  bank  failures,  foreclosures, 
murders,  suicides,  robberies,  and  various  other  casualties 
on  every  side. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        141 

When  these  same  miners  went  home  in  the  evening, 
gloomy  and  despondent,  their  wives  gradually  became 
infected,  and  the  children  gazing  into  the  despairing  eyes 
of  the  parents,  also  took  on  the  same  gaunt  worry.  Thus 
the  little  town  was  soon  in  almost  as  deplorable  a  condition 
as  if  stricken  by  a  plague. 

By  the  middle  of  August  industry  was  completely 
paralyzed,  with  the  exception  of  the  40  Rounds  and  the 
Sampson-Smith,  the  force  of  the  latter  being  reduced  to 
a  mere  skeleton  of  its  former  proportions. 

"When  would  Brown  shut  down?"  was  the  topic  of 
the  whole  gulch  population. 

Recently  he  had  been  known  to  hold  several  long  con 
versations  with  Mr.  Howard,  of  Howard  &  Co.,  the  largest 
general  dealers  in  the  gulch.  Howard  in  turn  had  been 
known  to  hold  several  clandestine  meetings  with  the  other 
dealers  of  the  village. 

Colonel  Rose  came  up  from  Denver,  looking  deeply  de 
jected  and  care-worn,  and  had  returned  to  the  city  on  the 
next  train  after  a  long  consultation  with  Standish. 

It  was  soon  rumored  that  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.  would 
abandon  its  afternoon  service  to  Denver,  and  a  few  days 
later  the  rumor  was  confirmed  when  the  service  was  re 
duced  to  one  mixed  train  a  day,  each  way. 

Still  the  40  Rounds  held  out.  The  force  of  men  work 
ing  in  the  property  were  interviewed  daily  by  their  more 
unfortunate  brethren. 

"WShat  is  Mr.  Brown  going  to  do?  When  is  he  going 
to  shut  down?" 

The  men  of  the  40  Rounds  could  not  answer.  They, 
too,  were  living  from  day  to  day  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety. 
They  had  expected  their  discharge  every  Saturday  when 
they  were  paid  off.  But  still  the  event  was  postponed  for 
some  mysterious  reason. 

On  the  first  day  of  September,  the  following^  printed 
notice  was  posted  in  the  various  stores  and  public  places 
of  the  village: 


142        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

MASS  MEETING  TONIGHT!  !  ! 

All  citizens  of  Plume  are  requested  to  attend 
a  meeting  at  the  town  hall  tonight;  to  discuss 
ways  and  means  for  the  relief  of  our  citizens 
during  the  present  hard  times. 
Signed, 

HOWAKD  &  CO. 

H.  LOBENSTEIN. 

KAUFMAN  BROS. 

NELSON  &  JOHNSON. 

S.  LOREE. 

MILLER  &  SON. 

At  this  meeting,  Standish  made  the  first  public  speech 
of  his  career.  He  read  it  from  manuscript,  and  in  sub 
stance  as  follows : 

"Fellow  Citizens  of  Plume: 

You  are  perhaps  painfully  aware  of  the  terrible  blow  which 
has  befallen  our  great  and  only  industry.  This  meeting  has  been 
called  so  that  we  might  discuss  the  matter  seriously  and  seek 
some  solution  of  the  problems  which  confront  us.  The  merchants 
who  signed  the  notice  posted  today  in  our  village,  have  reached 
their  limit  in  extending  credit.  In  fact,  they  have  gone  beyond 
their  depth  already,  as  some  of  them  are  in  a  precarious  con 
dition. 

At  a  meeting  held  some  few  days  ago  by  these  same  gentle 
men,  it  was  decided,  that  before  they  would  allow  each  other  to 
meet  financial  disaster,  one  by  one,  thus  visiting  a  calamity  upon 
their  customers  as  well  as  upon  themselves,  they  would  combine 
their  interests  as  far  as  possible,  and  endeavor  to  avert  a  disaster 
which  would  surely  depopulate  our  little  community. 

Knowing  that  I  have  always  labored  to  contribute  toward  the 
welfare  of  Plume  and  its  good  citizens,  these  gentlemen  visited 
me  and  solicited  my  assistance. 

In  answer  to  their  solicitations,  I  am  pleased  to  tender,  not 
only  to  these  worthy  merchants  of  ours,  but  to  you,  each  and 
every  citizen  of  Plume,  the  following  offer,  in  connection  with 
which  I  will  make  several  suggestions,  which,  if  acted  upon,  I 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE          143 

believe  will  prove  highly  conducive  to  our  mutual  welfare  and 
the  village  of  Plume. 

To  begin  with,  I  wish  to  state  that  I  have  absolute  faith  in  the 
good  people  of  Plume.  I  have  also  unshaken  faith  in  the  con 
tinued  production  and  permanency  of  silver.  I  intend  not  only 
to  keep  the  40  Rounds  going,  but  in  a  few  days  I  will  start  a 
sufficient  force  of  men,  to  bring  the  product  of  the  40  Rounds  up 
to  that  of  the  largest  producer  of  Colorado.  This  good  mine 
has  already  piled  up  a  great  sum  in  the  way  of  earnings,  and  I 
am  willing  to  spend  every  dollar  of  it,  if  necessary,  for  the  wel 
fare  of  the  people  of  this  community." 

At  this  juncture  in  his  remarks,  the  crowd  of  idle,  de 
spairing  men,  set  up  a  great  hand-clapping,  which  reached 
a  cheer,  and  then  burst  into  a  mighty  roar.  Such  words 
playing  upon  heavy  hearts  were  truly  golden. 

Standish  awkwardly  bowed  his  appreciation  of  the 
demonstration.  It  was  the  proudest  moment  of  his  life. 
He  had  at  last  reached  a  degree  of  positiveness,  of  decision, 
of  action.  He  had  actually  thought,  and  better  still,  he 
had  acted  promptly  on  that  thought.  Thus  at  one  bound 
he  had  sprung  from  the  hesitating,  stumbling,  uncertain 
boy,  to  the  thinking,  seeing,  and  instantly  acting  man. 
In  after  years  he  sought  the  boy  again.  All  men  do. 
Sometimes  they  find  it.  A  certain  rare,  concealed  ex 
uberance  of  the  boy  within  their  mature  souls.  Some 
folks  call  it,  "green  old  age." 

Continuing  after  the  applause  ceased,  he  said : 

"  I  have  already  furnished  your  merchants  with  sufficient  funds 
to  tide  them  over  the  present  crisis,  and  they  in  return,  will  en 
deavor  to  assist  you. 

I  suggest  that  you  organize  a  permanent  committee  represent 
ing  every  wage  earner  in  Plume,  and  try  and  get  in  immediate 
communication  with  the  mine  operators  who  have  employed  you 
in  the  past.  If  you  can  not  persuade  them  to  renew  operations, 
endeavor  to  get  leaseholds  from  them,  and  in  the  event  you  are 
successful,  it  will  afford  you  steady  employment,  for  I  will  see 
to  it  that  you  get  the  necessary  supplies,  and  will  guarantee  you 
the  sale  of  every  dollar's  worth  of  ore  you  can  produce. 


144        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Incidentally  I  shall  want,  on  Monday  next,  fifty  men  to  begin 
the  proposed  greater  development  of  the  40  Rounds,  and  I  sug 
gest  that  you  decide  among  yourselves,  upon  those  men  who  should 
have  the  first  chance  at  this  work.  Act  together,  my  friends,  for 
the  best  interest  of  all,  and  believe  me,  your  merchant  friends  and 
I,  will  endeavor  to  assist  every  one  of  you  to  tide  over  the  hard 
times." 

As  he  ceased  speaking,  a  great  buzz  of  excitement  sprang 
up,  the  men  immediately  effecting  a  permanent  organiza 
tion.  In  a  few  moments  they  had  elected  a  committee, 
and  their  spokesman  announced,  that  in  a  few  days  the 
committee  would  wait  upon  Mr.  Brown  and  the  merchants 
of  Plume  with  further  details,  and  also  that  by  Monday 
morning,  the  fifty  men  would  be  chosen  to  begin  the 
proposed  work  in  the  40  Rounds. 

Standish  went  to  bed  very  happy  that  night.  He  felt 
that  he  had  really  accomplished  something,  actually  feel 
ing  of  use  in  the  world.  He  also  became  seriously  con 
scious  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  of  that  magic  element 
known  as— POWER. 

He  mused  long  over  the  chain  of  thought  which  had 
led  him  to  the  relief  of  his  fellow  men. 

Yes,  he  had  really  thought. 

Even  better,  he  had  displayed  decision  and  courage. 
For  the  Colonel  had  stoutly  demurred  at  the  bold  line  of 
action  as  proposed  by  his  principal.  This  bold  line  of 
relief  was  started  solely  upon  Standish's  own  original 
ideas.  His  thought  had  at  last  culminated,  had  decided, 
had  insisted,  he  was  a  man  of  action  at  last. 

And  from  that  day,  Standish  Brown  not  only  became 
a  force,  an  important  factor,  a  man  to  be  reckoned  with, 
in  his  own  community,  but  in  the  whole  State  of  Colorado, 
as  well. 


CHAPTER  V 

Early  in  the  summer  of  1898,  Standish  sat  one  evening 
in  the  doorway  of  his  cottage,  with  Billy  in  his  lap,  pick 
ing  peanuts  out  of  his  pockets.  Breaking  them,  the 
animal  would  eat  the  meats,  and  drop  the  shells  mis 
chievously  into  Shep's  face,  who  laid  at  his  master's  feet. 

The  breeze  blew  warm  and  balmy  thru  the  gulch,  com 
ing  from  Utah,  laden  with  the  scent  of  the  resinous  coni 
fers.  The  new  moon  was  rising,  young  and  slender,  its 
dainty  crescent  seeming  to  rock  cradle-like  on  the  crest 
of  the  foothills,  as  it  first  peeped  into  the  gulch. 

_  The  lights  of  Plume  were  twinkling  far  down  at  Stan- 
dish's  feet.  Devoted  hamlet,  child  of  his  brave  protection 
these  past  few  years,  and  whose  citizens  were  once  more 
fully  employed  and  prospering.  Its  merchants  had  freed 
themselves  from  their  financial  obligations.  The  mines 
had  nearly  all  started  up  again,  and  he  was  freed  from 
the  heavy  obligations  of  the  hard-times  period  which 
marked  the  decline  of  silver. 

He  had  lost  thousands  of  dollars.  Yet  he  had  made 
them  all  back  again.  Scores  of  ingrates  had  stung  his 
honest  heart,  'but  hundreds  of  the  truly  appreciative  acts 
of  others  had  healed  those  stings.  The  balance  of  efforts 
and  results  had  been  struck  at  last,  the  great  panic  of  '93 
was  a  thing  of  the  past ;  and  he  had  emerged  from  those 
long  years  of  care  and  toil,  hopefully  and  thankfully, 
with  the  Future,  unknown,  mystical,  swinging  wide  its 
gates  into  the  untold  years. 

Standish  had  ever  maintained  the  serious  conscientious 
ness  of  his  youth.  He  invariably  subordinated  Self  to 
the  Idea.  Imbued  with  the  Cause,  he  cleaved  his  way 
to  the  desired  Effect. 

A  high  thought,  once  given  birth  in  his  soul,  sprang 
bravely  into  action.  To  a  promise  he  was  sure  to  render 
an  exact  fulfilment, 

145 


146        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

As  he  sat  there  thus,  enjoying  the  rare  beauty  of  the 
summer  night,  he  constantly  turned  his  gaze  toward  a 
light  far  down  the  trail,  shining  thru  the  window  of  a 
tiny  cottage  across  the  creek,  whose  rushing  waters  re 
flected  its  cheery  beam. 

Fiorina  lived  there.  That  dainty  little  wanderer  from 
distant  Italy,  that  rare,  sweet  bird  of  passage,  who  had 
gradually  crept  into  his  hungry  heart  thru  the  long  lonely 
years.  Her  bright  sunshine  and  childish  gayety  had  often 
been  the  light  that  had  kept  him  at  his  work. 

But  alas!  A  great  change  was  taking  place  within  him 
as  to  his  relations  with  the  beautiful  Italian  maid. 

Formerly,  he  had  viewed  her  as  the  laughing  child. 
They  had  chatted,  laughed,  sang,  embraced,  and  ran  over 
the  hills  together,  free  happy  children  of  joy  and  in 
nocence. 

Innocence,  caressing  innocence.  Purity,  embracing 
purity. 

But  of  late,  there  was  a  peculiar  something  crowding 
out  the  innocent  one.  He  could  no  longer  look  into 
her  ingenuous  eyes,  and  smile  back  the  answering  beam 
of  innocence.  His  once  honest  eyes  had  become  desiring, 
and  his  thought,  once  so  pure  and  noble  in  her  presence, 
had  become  lustfully  calculative.  Some  terrible  inhabi 
tant  of  his  soul  was  seeking  to  gorge  itself  upon  her 
rare  charms.  A  fearful  shadow  was  slowly  falling  upon 
his  once  white  soul. 

He  had  felt  it  first  on  that  fatal  day  he  had  suddenly 
discovered  that  the  laughing  child,  Fiorina,  had  become 
a  woman.  It  was  a  great  shock  to  him,  likewise  a  great 
revelation.  Fiorina  had  apparently  not  realized  it  herself. 
She  still  came  to  him  with  all  the  innocent  joyousness 
of  maidenhood.  She  still  leaped  into  his  lap,  kissed  his 
face,  and  skipped  away  delighted  with  the  sweetmeat, 
the  book,  or  the  magazine  which  he  invariably  gave.  But 
Standish  could  not  distinguish  her  as  clearly  as  of  yore. 

Something — SOMETHING,  was  coming  between  them, 
intangible,  unexplainable,  terrible. 

He  could  not  as  yet  distinguish  its  outline,  its  shape, 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        147 

its  form.  But  it  was  certainly  an  evil  object,  terrifying, 
forbidding. 

Yes,  there  it  was  leering  into  his  soul  even  now  as  his 
eyes  looked  down  the  gulch  at  the  light  shining  from 
Fiorina's  window. 

But  no,  it  did  not  leer. 

It  was  not  a  form,  it  was  only  a  shadow. 

Yes;  only  a  shadow. 

Only  a  mere  vapory,  harmless  fleck  of  shade. 

A  SHADOW! 

What  is  a  shadow? 

It  is  that  shade  or  darkness  formed  by  a  body  which 
intercepts  rays  of  light. 

DARKNESS !— BODY  I— LIGHT ! ! 

Feeling  the  gloom,  coming  into  the  shade  and  enter 
ing  the  shadow,  we  naturally  look  about  to  see  this  body, 
this  form,  this  object  which  casts  us  in  this  shroud  of 
gloom. 

We  rest  in  the  shade  of  the  stately  oak.  We  recline 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  leafy  elm.  We  experience  the 
cool  shadow  of  a  cloud,  which  passes  between  us  and  the 
hot,  scorching  sun  of  August. 

All  these  are  shadows. 

Bodies  getting  between  us  and  the  light,  and  putting 
us  in  the  shade.  We  fall  under  and  feel  these  cool 
shadows. 

All  the  above  are  pleasant  shadows.  They  soothe,  pro 
tect,  caress,  and  we  are  grateful. 

Then  we  have  the  terrifying,  the  death  shadows. 

The  plague,  ravaging  Asia,  casting  its  awful  shadow  over 
trembling  Europe. 

The  fearful  shadow  of  War,  cast  by  a  cannon  shot  boom 
ing  across  the  Rhine,  the  fatal  forerunner  of  bloody  bat 
tles  and  seiges. 

The  appalling  shadow  of  Famine  in  India,  caused  by 
long  seasons  of  drought,  foretelling  the  death  of  hun 
dreds  of  thousands,  who  will  die  by  slow  starvation. 

These  fearful  shadows  menace  nations,  species,  whole 
races  and  peoples,  with  death  and  annihilation. 


148        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Then  we  have  the  shadows  which  menace  the  peace  of 
the  Individual  only. 

Soul  shadows. 

Thought  monsters,  casting  long  black  shadows  upon 
white  souls. 

The  shadow  of  Drink,  forecasting  the  drunkard,  per 
haps  the  suicide  and  murderer.  The  shadow  of  Jealousy, 
hiding  in  its  green  folds  of  venom,  slander  and  destruc 
tion.  The  shadow  of  Mammon,  instilling  Avarice,  the 
miser. 

These  are  the  dark  shadows  of  our  souls,  which  some 
times  cast  in  deep  and  melancholy  gloom,  the  brightest 
and  happiest  individuals.  They  are  caused  by  monsters 
who  stand  between  us  and  the  light.  When  once  we  fall 
under  the  shadow  of  either  Drink,  Jealousy,  Mammon, 
Lust,  Avarice,  or  any  other  of  the  hideous  denizens  of  our 
souls,  our  only  hope  is  giving  battle. 

We  must  fight,  clinch,  scratch,  bite,  chew,  roll  des 
perately  in  the  dust,  deliver  and  receive  tremendous 
blows,  and  struggle  on  undaunted  with  fervent  prayers 
to  God  and  the  angels  upon  our  lips ;  to  overcome  in  every 
way  the  hideous  shape  whkh  has  cast  us  in  the  gloom 
and  shut  out  the  light  of  Purity  and  Peace.  Only  by 
overcoming  these  monsters  in  desperate  mortal  combat, 
can  we  hope  to  emerge  once  more  into  the  glad  light  of 
day,  into  the  realms  of  the  pure  unsullied  Conscience; 
under  the  celestial  effulgent  beams  of  Divinity. 

Only  when  we  stand  triumphant  over  the  bloody  corpse 
of  the  monster  that  has  threatened  us,  can  we  look  into 
the  eyes  of  God  and  smile  heavenward  the  sign  of  peace. 

When  you  have  removed  the  form,  the  body  of  the 
monster,  you  have  removed  the  cause  of  the  shadow.  It 
is  no  longer  there.  You  have  emerged  into  the  full  light. 
The  light  falls  upon  you  unbroken.  You  again  inhale 
the  sweet,  fragrant  breath  of  Innocence. 

Standish  was  in  the  darkness  of  a  gre"at  shadow.  It 
would  remain  until  he  removed  the  cause.  It  would  re 
main  until  he  had  slain  the  monster.  If  the  monster 
conquered,  his  soul  was  doomed. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        149 

Rising  to  his  feet  with  a  deep  sigh,  he  entered  the  cot 
tage  and  lighted  the  lamp.  Billy  and  Shep  followed  him. 
The  faithful  animals  each  sought  their  quarters,  and 
their  master  undressed  and  went  to  bed. 

Almost  immediately  after  he  fell  asleep,  he  woke 
with  a  start.  A  horrible  shape  had  reached  out  to  seize 
him  as  he  lay  there. 

A  cold  sweat  dampened  his  fevered  brow. 

"Good  God!  What  was  it?" 

"  Bah !  It  was  only  a  shadow." 

Yes,  ONLY  A  SHADOW! 


CHAPTER  VI 

Down  -by  the  creek,  Fiorina  was  sitting  upon  a  huge 
boulder  watching  the  reflection  of  the  moonlight  in  the 
tumbling  waters  of  the  stream. 

She  was  nearly  eighteen  years  old,  and  had  become  a 
woman. 

More,  she  was  a  most  beautiful  woman. 

Beauty,  perfect  beauty? 

How  often  among  the  thousands  of  women  we  meet, 
do  we  find  a  woman  whom  Nature  proclaims  physically 
perfect?  There  is  only  one  perhaps,  among  thousands 
of  fair  wromen,  who  obtains  the  certificate  of  perfect  beauty. 
One  may  have  a  perfect  face,  another  a  perfect  hand; 
others,  a  graceful  neck,  a  divinely  arched  instep,  a  lan 
guishing  eye,  a  superbly  moulded  bust,  a  model  waist, 
or  exquisitely  curved  hips ;  but  only  one,  among  thousands 
of  fair  women,  possesses  all  or  most  of  these  requisites 
of  feminine  "beauty. 

Fiorina  was  almost  perfect. 

She  was  possessed  of  an  exquisite  standard  and  type  of 
beauty,  and  could  easily  qualify,  with  the  single  exception 
of  height.  She  was  rather  diminutive,  short  in  stature. 
In  all  other  respects  however,  Nature  had  apparently 
stamped  her  perfect. 

If  she  had  suddenly  been  changed  from  living  pulsa 
ting  flesh,  into  marble ;  and  exhibited  in  some  temple  of 
art,  connoisseurs  \vould  have  raved. 

If  Phidias  had  beheld  her,  he  would  have  passionately 
sighed  for  a  block  of  ivory,  to  carve  in  imperishable  out 
line  her  ravishing  form  and  beautiful  face.  To  place 
her  exquisitely  rounded  figure  superbly  poised  as  a 
nymph,  in  the  mouth  of  a  vast  pink  throated  shell. 

And  illuminating  this  budded  physique,  was  a  most 
dainty  soul,  containing  a  shining  winged  spirit.  A  heaven 
fed  lamp. 

151 


152         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Not  mind.  Not  intellect.  Nor  calculation.  Nor  reason. 
Naught,  but  just  pure  unadulterated  spirit,  beaming  forth 
spontaneously,  as  a  golden  sun  thru  passing  clouds ;  rising 
and  falling,  dipping  and  soaring,  like  a  swift  flying  bird 
fluttering  joyously  in  the  summer  sky,  filling  the  azure 
with  beatific  song. 

And  this  innocent  creature  of  effervescent  spirit  and 
rare  physical  charms,  possessed  but  one  supreme  passion. 

One,  that  was  all.  It  was  life,  death ;  laughter  and  tears ; 
man — ajmost  God. 

It  was  her  love  for  Standish  Brown. 

The  seven  years  of  her  acquaintance  with  him,  had  de 
veloped  a  mighty  passion  in  the  heart  of  this  flower  of 
Naples.  But  it  was  a  wholly  innocent,  trusting,  divine 
passion.  A  thirsting  Madonna  passion,  which  charges 
every  atom  of  a  maiden's  personality  with  the  fever  of 
woman's  desire  and  love. 

This  man  was  a  part  of  her  girlhood.  He  had  given 
her  the  first  joy  she  had  ever  known  in  this  great  America. 
He  had  been  kind  to  her  darling  grandfather,  and  had 
given  him  work  and  employment.  Her  conception  of 
God  almost  rested  in  him.  Did  not  a  divine  light  beam 
from  his  eyes,  when  he  told  her  wondrous  stories?  Had 
she  not  felt  safe  from  all  harm  when  she  had  snuggled 
up  to  his  great  protecting  breast  in  the  days  of  her  child 
hood?  There  where  the  bleak  winter  wind  howled  dis 
mally  outside  the  cottage,  where  she  had  waited  for  her 
grandfather  to  come  out  of  the  mine  to  take  him  home  to 
supper  and  rest.  Yes,  Ave  Maria,  this  tall,  noble  moun 
taineer  was  everything  to  her.  He  was  her  all.  The  ONE. 

There  are  two  things  in  the  world,  which  are  acknowl 
edged  by  all,  as  being  absolutely  perfect.  That  is,  per 
fect  in  every  action;  under  every  condition,  absolutely 
flawless  at  all  times  and  in  all  places. 

CLOUDS  and  DREAMS. 

Can  anyone  imagine  an  imperfect  cloud?  If  so,  by 
what  standard?  By  whose  authority?  Where  is  found 
registered  the  standard  of  cloud  bulk?  Its  form  classi 
fied?  Its  movement  regulated?  Its  color  decreed? 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        153 

As  it  lies  there  glorious  in  the  west,  Queen  of  Caprice 
and  Fancy,  with  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun  dyeing  its 
snowy  fleece  with  a  thousand  changing  colors;  its  beau 
tiful  form  contracting,  expanding,  spreading,  towering, 
it  absolutely  defies  criticism.  Its  own  sweet  pleasure,  de 
creed  by  eternal  Nature,  exultingly  proclaims  its  perfec 
tion  ;  and  it  triumphantly  rides  the  skies,  a  thing  of  peer 
less  perfect  beauty. 

And  so  with  DREAMS. 

They  flash  their  phenomena  upon  our  enchanted  un 
resisting  vision.  They  horrify  us,  they  delight  us.  From 
some  we  shrink  in  wildest  terror;  others  we  reach  out 
to  madly  embrace,  and  wish  in  that  divine  intoxication, 
that  we  might  never  waken.  And  thus,  as  with  the  pass 
ing  cloud,  the  form,  the  movement,  the  emotion,  the  color 
of  a  dream,  defies  the  register  of  man's  most  delicate  in 
strument.  They  defy  e'en  his  subtlest  senses.  They 
laugh  in  his  face.  They  terrify  him,  they  charm.  They 
declare  themselves  perfect,  and  they — are. 

And  so  Fiorina  dreamed  as  she  sat  there  in  the  moon 
light,  and  they  were  happy  dreams.  Sweet  votaries  wait 
ing  upon  innocent,  expectant  maidenhood.  Sometime 
and  somewhere,  he  would  speak  to  her.  He  would  tell 
her  of  his  love  for  her.  She  would  enter  into  his  broad 
ocean  of  life  as  a  sparkling  brook.  She  would  live  with 
him,  and  Billy,  and  Shep,  and  grandfather  Ferrari,  in 
a  fine  new  cottage  on  the  hill,  and  they  would  all  be  so 
happy  together. 

The  young  moon  rose  higher  in  the  sky  as  she  sat 
there,  the  stars  were  swinging  high  up  in  the  milky 
way,  and  last  and  best  of  all,  HIS  light,  shining  from 
the  cottage  window,  shone  far  up  to  where  the  trail  was 
lost  in  the  mighty  shadow  of  the  Everlasting  Hills. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Flesh  is  sweet. 

It  has  warmth  and  juices. 

It  has  the  rich  scent  and  odor  of  sex. 

It  is  the  living,  quivering,  desiring,  cushioned  fibre  of 
the  sensual  world. 

Feed  a  thought  with  flesh,  and  you  create  a  carnal 
PASSION. 

When  you  admit  a  carnal  Passion  to  your  soul,  you 
menace  Love. 

Then,  BEWARE! 

Love  is  the  guardian  of  Purity.  Passion  is  the  shadow 
of  the  Beast.  Love  and  Passion  can  not  exist  in  peace 
within  the  soul.  One  or  the  other  will  triumph  in  a 
deadly  contest.  If  Passion  triumphs,  beware.  Passion  is 
the  shadow  of  the  Beast. 

The  eternal  BEAST? 

The  awful  dog  which  fills  the  Theatre  of  the  Soul  with 
hideous  bayings  and  dreadful  leaps. 

Was  there  ever  a  true  complete  man  who  has  not  felt 
like  a  low,  whipped  cur,  in  the  leash  and  company  of  this 
hideous  dog  of  the  soul? 

When  we  turn  to  the  fountain  heads  of  experience  and 
history  we  feel  that  such  is  the  truth. 

Turn  to  the  recital  of  the  glorious  race  that  produced 
the  matchless  art  of  Phidias. 

Behold  the  glory  of  the  Greeks. 

The  mighty  Spartans,  the  proud  Athenians,  the  grace 
ful  Cretans.  That  fair  Greece,  immortal  realm,  in  which 
man  believed  himself  akin  to  the  gods. 

Their  poets,  from  the  venerable  Homer  to  the  charm 
ing  Sappho,  reveal  the  handsome  structure  of  their  soul 
theatre  and  its  glorious  players;  yet  between  the  lines 
and  behind  the  scenes,  we  observe  the  Beast,  lustful,  de 
siring,  unholy,  obtaining  his  fill. 

155 


156         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Adonis,  ravished  upon  the  burning  breast  of  Venus. 
Helen,  struggling  vainly  in  the  fevered  clasp  of  Paris. 
Sappho,  wrapped  in  the  amorous  arms  of  Phaon. 

In  the  imperial  theatre  of  the  Romans,  the  Beast  at 
tains  gigantic  and  frightful  proportions.  The  whole  world 
is  sacked  to  feed  its  maw. 

Caligua,  Antonita,  the  monstrous  consort  of  Belisarius. 
And  over  the  naked  throng  of  Bronzebeard  and  the  shriek 
ing  virgins,  drop  red  roses,  one  by  one,  smothering  the 
despairing  voice  and  shrinking  form  of  Chastity,  with 
the  crimson  gore  of  Sensuality.  It  is  with  horror  we  be 
hold  the  outermost  confines  of  the  western  world  explored 
in  the  desiring  reach  of  Roman  lust.  Quivering  and 
shrinking  innocence  plucked  and  ravished  from  Britain's 
misty  isle  to  the  voluptuous  bowers  of  Persia.  All,  all, 
to  feed  the  maw  of  human  lust. 

As  we  turn  to  the  later  Romans,  the  noble  Italians  who 
gave  us  the  peerless  art  of  Michael  Angelo,  Raphael,  Cor- 
reggio.  Here  again,  is  the  magnificent  playhouse  of  the 
soul,  filled  with  the  lecherous  stalkings  of  the  untamed 
Beast.  Vast  orgies,  debauches,  held  in  palaces  of  incom 
parable  art,  and  ending  only  with  utter  satiation. 

Advancing  to  England,  to  the  reign  of  the  Tudors,  we 
behold  the  infamous  Henry  VIII,  reeking  in  a  foul  and 
colossal  bed  of  unholy  amours. 

In  France,  we  see  the  corrupted  effeminate  court  of 
Louis  LeGrand.  Great  monarchs  and  princes,  wallowing 
in  the  arms  of  painted,  decaying  Pompadours.  Oh,  this 
vile  Beast,  lapping  up  the  vitals  of  kings. 

Turning  even  to  the  Puritan,  that  abstemious,  per 
secuted,  indomitable  religious  fanatic,  who  swept  thru 
England  like  a  wall  of  flame;  we  find  the  Beast  even  in 
him,  in  the  prim  severe  theatre  of  his  soul,  hiding  covertly 
behind  the  curtain  of  Prudery,  with  its  deep  insistent 
bayings,  wild  scratching  of  claws,  and  the  fierce  straining 
of  its  leash,  as  it  boldly  endeavors  to  leap  upon  the  stage. 

The  grim  visages  of  the  early  New  Englanders  pre 
tended  to  scorn  the  Beast,  and  they  tried  to  hide  it,  to 
conceal  and  deny  it;  but  in  vain,  their  ministers  confess 
ing  their  liaisons  in  the  public  square,  and  the  scarlet 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         157 

letter  'being  sewn  upon  the  white  bosoms  of  their  con 
sorts. 

Thus  thru  all  history  the  Beast  is  fed. 

The  hideous  Beast. 

LUST! 

Standish  passed  a  terrible  night. 

Of  late,  as  Fiorina  had  embraced  him,  or  thrust  her 
scarlet  lips  up  to  him  to  be  kissed,  he  felt  an  unholy  in 
toxication  as  he  pressed  her  form  or  felt  the  warm  breath 
of  her  kisses.  He  felt  his  bright  soul  crossed  by  a  mighty 
shadow,  a  dreadful  shade,  casting  a  terrifying  chill  over 
his  conscience.  But  this  shade,  this  wild  passion  to 
which  he  was  slowly  succumbing,  was  merely  the  dread 
shadow  cast  by  the  form  of  the  great  Beast  itself. 

He  was  no  longer  his  old  manly  self.  Gradually,  thru 
the  terrible  blackness  of  his  passion,  he  could  feel  a  hot 
breath,  dimly  discern  a  monstrous  claw  suddenly  thrust 
thru  the  shadow,  and  hear  a  horible  distant  bellowing. 

He  became  terrified.  He  shook  as  with  the  ague.  Sum 
moning  his  religious  forces  he  tried  to  pray  it  away,  but 
in  vain.  His  better  nature  had  been  completely  suffo 
cated  by  his  unholy  desires. 

Suddenly  the  dense,  black  gloom  of  the  Shadow  dis 
appeared,  swallowed  up  in  a  roaring  mass  of  lurid  crack 
ling  flames  which  lighted  up  the  theatre  of  his  soul  with 
the  flaming  terrors  of  a  great  conflagration.  Cowering 
in  the  red  blistering  glow,  he  looked  about  him  as  a 
wounded  gladiator  in  an  amphitheatre,  fairly  screaming 
with  terror  at  the  awful  spectacle  which  confronted  him. 

He  was  facing  the  Beast  at  last. 

Then  began  a  mortal  combat  with  one  of  the  most  ter 
rible  creatures  of  the  soul,  and  one  which  up  to  the  last 
few  weeks,  he  had  never  dreamed  as  existing  therein. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  thought,  for  with  a  hideous 
bellow  the  monster  sprang  upon  him.  And  there  in  the 
red  light  of  sensuality  he  fought  one  of  the  most  desper 
ate  battles  of  his  life.  He  clawed  its  face,  dug  at  its  eyes, 
smote  it  with  mighty  blows  upon  its  crab-like  beak,  but 
all  without  avail,  the  monster  was  slowly  crushing  him. 


Of  late,  at  each  visit  of  Fiorina,  it  had  grown  more  ra 
pacious,  more  implacable.  It  leaped  exultantly  as  Stan- 
dish  touched  the  warm  pulsating  hands  or  sweet  red  lips 
of  the  innocent  maid.  But  with  all  her  chaste  innocence, 
Fiorina  appeared  within  his  soul  that  night  as  a  terrible 
temptress.  In  the  past  few  weeks,  as  she  had  come  to 
him  with  her  merry  eyes  and  trusting  smile,  he  had  al 
most  succumbed  to  the  strength  of  the  Beast  and  licked 
up  the  fair  innocent  creature  with  his  unholy  lust.  But 
somehow,  and  in  some  manner,  he  had  been  spared  the 
awful  crime.  But  how  long  could  he  resist  her  charms, 
with  this  devouring  mobster  tearing  at  his  vitals,  weak 
ening  him  more  and  more? 

Thus  hour  after  hour  of  the  long  night  ebbed  slowly 
away.  At  the  first  cock  crow  he  was  still  awake,  with  his 
great  blue  eyes  staring  glassily  from  the  torment  in  his 
soul.  Then  the  first  gray  tints  of  the  morning  came  dimly 
thru  the  windows,  but  still  the  battle  raged.  He  con 
fessed  himself  too  weak  to  again  meet  Fiorina  under  the 
usual  conditions.  He  must,  under  no  circumstances,  allow 
her  to  kiss  or  embrace  him.  No,  she  must  stay  away, 
and  let  him  slay  this  hideous  monster  which  had  en 
veloped  him  in  its  deadly  toils. 

Soon  the  sunbeams  danced  thru  the  window,  and  Shep 
and  Billy  were  whining  to  get  out  doors.  He  raised  him 
self  up  in  bed  and  peered  out.  Yes,  it  was  the  morning 
of  a  glorious  day.  He  would  go  into  the  hills,  among 
the  solitary  defiles  of  the  mountains;  and  there,  alone, 
he  would  stifle  this  terrible  Beast,  and  throw  its  fearful 
smothering  form,  crashing  over  the  loftiest  precipice  of 
his  soul.  Then  he  would  be  gloriously  free,  and  Love, 
gentle  divine  Love,  would  shine  in  his  soul  once  more, 
and  under  its  guiding  star  he  would  return  and  woo  and 
wed  the  beautiful  Fiorina,  chaste  and  ennobled  with 
Purity. 

As  he  laid  there  in  his  bed,  exhausted,  his  form  trem 
bling  from  the  effects  of  his  all-night  battle  with  the 
Beast,  he  heard  a  light  footstep  outside  the  cottage  door. 

It  was  Fiorina. 

She  had  come  tripping  up  the  trail,  radiant  in  -the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        159 

morning  sunlight,  escorting  her  grandfather  to  his  work. 
As  they  passed  the  cottage,  she  looked  shyly  at  the  door 
which  was  closed.  They  went  up  to  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel,  and  kissing  the  old  man  good-bye,  she  retraced 
her  footsteps  to  the  cottage. 

No  one  visible.  Strange!  Standish  should  have  been 
up  long  ago.  Surely  there  must  be  some  sign  of  life 
about  the  place.  Billy,  Shep,  where  were  they? 

She  would  knock. 

Clenching  her  beautiful  dimpled  hand,  she  rapped 
sharply  upon  the  door  with  the  air  and  confidence  of  a 
privileged  person.  No  answer,  however,  save  a  sharp  bark 
from  Shep,  and  a  joyful  chatter  from  Billy.  She  un 
derstood  then.  Standish  had  undoubtedly  gone  out, 
either  to  the  mine  or  to  town,  and  had  forgotten  to  re 
lease  his  pets. 

Thus  assured,  she  opened  the  door  and  stepped  inside, 
the  two  animals  dancing  with  delight  at  the  sight  of  her, 
and  stooping  down  she  caressed  them.  Shep  was  so  rough 
in  his  play,  that  he  almost  broke  the  pretty  gold  chain 
which  hung  over  her  scarlet  bodice. 

My  I  The  brilliant  colors  of  this  mountain  maid's  cos 
tume  this  fair  morning. 

A  short  brown  skirt,  scarlet  bodice,  black  velvet  jacket, 
a  dainty  broad  white  linen  collar,  black  stockings,  and 
neat  high  heeled  boots. 

Oh,  vanity,  vanity,  little  Fiorina;  altho  if  you  are 
seeking  a  certain  man's  heart,  who  could  blame  you? 

With  her  luxuriant  brown  hair,  which  shone  like  satin 
when  the  sun  fell  upon  it,  her  pearly  white  teeth  and 
scarlet  lips,  and  her  soft  olive  complexion  tinged  gorge 
ously  with  bright  carmine,  she  was  certainly  the  embod 
iment  of  beautiful  healthful  womanhood. 

Hearing  a  creaking  sound,  she  looked  up,  and  to  her 
great  amazement  she  saw  Standish  lying  in  bed.  She 
had  not  dreamed  that  he  would  be  in  bed  at  this  late 
hour.  And  greatly  embarrassed,  she  stood  there  confused 
and  blushing  furiously  at  her  mistake  in  entering  thus. 
What  would  he  think  of  her? 

Standish  half  raised  himself  on  his  pillow.     The  ex- 


160        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

pression  upon  his  face  was  ghastly.  He  looked  like  a 
madman. 

Pointing  with  his  finger  at  the  trembling  girl,  he 
screamed  out  in  fearful  tones,  "Youl  You!  You  foul 
temptress!  Go!  Leave!" 

Retiring  toward  the  door,  the  distracted  woman  was 
completely  overwhelmed  with  doubt  and  shame,  and  she 
stood  there  shaking  and  trembling  with  horror. 

"Go!  Go,  I  say,  you  foul  fiend !  Leave  me!  Go!"  he 
shrieked  again. 

After  standing  transfixed  upon  the  threshold  for  one 
awful  moment,  Fiorina  uttered  a  cry  of  horror,  and  rush 
ing  down  the  trail  wringing  her  hands  in  the  most  ex 
cruciating  agony,  she  was  nearly  home  before  she  began 
to  realize  the  dreadful  calamity  which  had  befallen  her. 

"  Sweet  Jesu,"  she  moaned,  kneeling  before  a  tiny  por 
celain  image  of  the  Saviour,  "What  it  all  mean?  Oh! 
Sweet  Jesu!  My  Stando  is  mad,  mad!" 

Slowly  the  strangeness  and  the  horror  of  it  grew  upon 
her,  and  going  to  the  door  she  locked  it,  as  if  to  shut  out 
the  sight  of  her  maddened  lover,  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears  as  she  did  so,  and  then  flinging  herself  upon  her 
little  bed  she  laid  for  hours  sobbing  upon  the  pillow. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Standish  had  always  loved  solitude.  The  many 
years  which  his  father  and  he  had  occupied  their 
cottage  remote  from  other  habitations  had  fixed  upon 
him  many  habits  of  a  solitary.  In  the  winter  time, 
with  the  howling  blizzards  outside  fiercely  shaking  the 
cottage  windows,  he  would  sit  before  the  fire  and  meditate 
for  hours.  Lying  upon  his  bed  he  would  look  into  the 
infinite  and  dream.  In  the  summer,  walking  in  the  moon 
light  under  the  green  arches  of  the  pines  among  the 
dark  defiles  of  the  mountains,  he  would  look  up  at  the 
stars,  and  his  thought  would  soar  toward  the  uttermost 
realms  of  the  universe. 

Solitude  is  the  shore-line  of  the  Infinite. 

The  Infinite  is  that  boundless  ocean  of  Mind  which 
beats  within  the  soul. 

Solitude  does  not  necessarily  mean  that  an  individual 
must  dwell  alone  upon  some  deserted  isle  of  the  sea, 
some  secluded  nook  among  the  mountains,  or  some  spot 
entirely  removed  from  humanity.  It  simply  demands 
but  one  great  essential  condition,  viz.,  to  be  alone  with 
thought. 

Victor  Hugo  was  almost  as  great  a  solitary  in  gay 
Paris  in  the  midst  of  a  teeming  population  and  a  host 
of  admiring  friends  as  he  was  in  his  lonely  eyrie  on  the 
heights  of  Guernsey,  surrounded  only  by  a  tumbling 
ocean  lashed  to  fury  by  the  howling'  gales  of  the  North 
Sea.  In  either  spot,  monarch  of  mind,  he  could  for 
get  the  world,  and  be  alone  with  thought. 

It  was  thus  with  the  zodiacal,  heaven-searching  George 
Eliot.  "For  I  am  still  a  solitary,  tho  near  a  city.  But 
we  have  the  Universe  to  talk  with,  infinity  in  which  to 
stretch  the  gaze  of  Hope,  and  an  all-bountiful,  all-wise 
Creator  in  whom  to  confide." 

161 


1<62        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

But  by  far  the  greater  number  of  the  devotees  of  Sol 
itude,  lack  this  masterful  navigation  of  Mind.  They  are 
forced  to  seek  the  quiet  retreat  of  lonely  and  unfrequented 
spots,  they  require  absolute  quiet  and  stillness.  Then 
only  can  they  project  their  frail  thought  crafts  upon  the 
vast  seas  of  the  Infinite.  Only  when  their  supersensi- 
tive  physiques  are  freed  from  the  toils  of  their  kind,  can 
their  airy  thought  wing  its  way  into  the  distant  realms 
of  the  mind. 

Thus  outside  the  walls  of  Frankfort,  the  erratic  Goethe 
sought  to  curb  his  restless  spirit  in  the  quiet  solitudes  of 
the  wind-kissed  groves. 

Into  the  leafy  solitudes  of  the  deep  New  England  for 
est,  the  heaven-visioned  Emerson  was  invited  by  that 
inspiring  old  aunt  of  his,  writing  from  her  home  upon 
the  storm-swept  coast  of  Maine. 

Alone,  upon  the  lonely  moors  of  Scotland,  the  rugged 
Carlyle  prayed  in  solitude  for  strength  and  patience  to 
penetrate  and  illume  the  thick  skull  of  stout  John  Bull 
with  new  thoughts  and  progressive  ideas. 

In  the  navigation  of  this  boundless  sea  of  the  infinite 
Mind,  Life,  is  the  ship,  the  craft. 

Inspiration  is  the  wind  which  fills  the  sails. 

Thoughts  are  the  crew. 

Genius,  the  intrepid  navigator. 

And  the  Individual — consciousness,  the  passenger. 

You  are  afloat  upon  an  unknown  sea.  The  pressure 
of  the  human  crowd,  yet  still  your  brothers,  is  far  re 
moved.  You  float  buoyantly  upon  the  bosom  of  a  mighty 
deep. 

The  progress  of  the  human  race  has  always  been  meas 
ured  by  man's  exploration  of  the  infinite  Mind. 

Embarking  from  the  shore-line  of  Solitude  out  upon 
the  boundless  abysmal  ocean  of  the  Infinite,  Genius  has 
ever  bravely  voyaged;  and  as  often  returned  with  rich 
cargoes  of  imperishable  wealth,  to  swell  the  treasuries  of 
human  knowledge. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        163 

The  infinite  Mind,  that  boundless  ocean  which  beats 
within  the  soul. 

From  out  these  vasty  seas  came  Galileo,  hiding  within 
his  bosom  the  discovery  of  the  rotundity  of  the  earth. 
And  even  as  he  denied  the  possession  of  his  treasure  to 
the  fathers  of  the  church,  it  sprang  from  out  his  vitals, 
and  leaped  naked  and  exultant  into  the  world,  shouting 
its  glad  cry  from  the  mountain  tops. 

From  hence  emerged  the  laborious  Newton,  after  a 
voyage  of  fearful  peril.  Yea!  Even  to  the  verge  of  in 
sanity  did  he  heroically  toil  and  drift  over  unknown 
seas;  but  at  last  he  came,  bearing  in  his  arms  an  appall 
ing  and  wonderful  monster  of  the  Infinite.  All  drip 
ping  and  gasping,  snared  from  its  deep  ocean  lair  in  this 
mighty  sea  of  the  Infinite— THE  LAW  OF  GRAVITA 
TION!  Men  bowed  down  before  the  genius  of  Newton. 
They  will  lay  wreaths  upon  the  grave  of  this  great  Eng 
lishman,  as  long  as  his  island  bears  roses  upon  its  bosom. 

Darting  across  the  surface  of  this  mysterious  ocean  of 
Mind,  danced  the  immortal  Shelley,  scattering  wondrous 
soul  flowers,  gathered  up  as  Mercury  wings,  from  distant 
tropics  of  the  Infinite.  Generously  he  tossed  the  fragrant 
blossoms  into  the  eager  hands  outstretched  to  grasp  them. 
Those  wondrous  gems  of  poesy  will  bloom  forever  in  the 
gardens  of  Art.  And  just  as  lightly  as  this  divine  child 
tossed  his  rare  flowers  to  the  delighted  throng,  he  danced 
out  again  upon  the  wild  salt  waves  of  Mystery,  and  was 
lost  forever  more. 

From  the  skies  which  overhang  this  wondrous  ocean, 
leaped  Rabelais,  clothed  in  the  fire  of  heaven,  leaping 
athwart  the  world  of  letters,  as  lightning  darts  its  livid 
tongue  from  the  black  and  inky  cloud.  Terrible  rolled 
he,  amid  the  clash  and  roar  of  battling  elements,  spout 
ing  satire  and  eloquence  for  a  brief  moment,  and  then 
was  lost  to  view  speeding  down  the  dizzy  slopes  of  all 
swallowing  Eternity. 

From  the  midst  of  this  tumbling  ocean  thundered 
Hugo.  Riding  far  out  upon  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  cling 
ing  to  the  white  mane  of  its  high  reared  billows,  he  rode 


the  storm  and  sounded  his  hoarse  bass  trumpet  of  Hu 
manity.  Deep  and  awe  inspiring  it  sounded,  distinct  and 
thunder-toned  above  the  roar  of  the  shrieking  tempest. 
King  of  the  storm !  Master  of  the  elements !  He  sounded 
the  slogan  of  Universalism,  to  reverberate  forever  and 
ever  in  the  souls  of  men,  and  with  the  last  triumphant 
blast,  he  too  sank  beneath  the  foam-flecked  waves. 

Hush! 

"A  sail!  A  sail!"  cries  the  watchman. 

From  out  the  bosom  of  the  rolling  Infinite,  comes  Jesus 
of  Nazareth.  Holy.  Immaculate.  Divine.  Rebuking  .the 
fierce  hissing  tongues  of  the  angry  wave  demons,  he  smiles 
in  the  face  of  the  tempest ;  walking  serenely,  beaming  cel 
estial  light,  conquering  the  darkness.  Lifting  a  hand,  he 
parts  the  clouds.  The  heavens  open,  and  from  the  Realms 
of  Light,  springs  forth  a  glorious  dove,  white  as  the  soul 
of  God.  Darting  down  from  Paradise,  it  drops  a  won 
drous  flower  among  the  waiting  throng  and  vanishes. 

A  cross  then  emerges  from  this  wondrous  Infinite, 
bearing  upon  it  the  blessed  form  of  the  Holy  One.  Then 
the  great  Master  is  swallowed  up  in  the  folds  of  eternal 
night ;  but  the  cross  still  remains,  .fixed  forever  on  Calvary. 

Men  of  Earth,  standing  spellbound  upon  the  shores 
of  the  Infinite,  rub  their  eyes,  dazed  and  confounded  by 
the  spectacle. 

Do  they  dream? 

No! 

Here  is  the  flower  dropped  by  the  dove.  It  is  a  real, 
imperishable,  sacred  token. 

Here  is  the  blood-stained  cross,  the  supreme  witness. 

The  flower  is  Faith.  ' 

The  cross,  bears  witness  to  the  Martyr. 

It  is  the  covenant  of  Christian  Israel  with  the  Father, 
the  supreme  sacrifice  of  the  Son,  the  token  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 

And  again  in  the  ages  to  come,  some  intrepid  traveler 
of  the  Infinite  will  some  day  actually  reach  the  Throne 
of  Grace,  where  sits  the  Father,  and  upon  His  right 
hand,  the  immaculate  Son.  And  as  a  great  swan,  a  con 
quering  Lohengrin,  this  brave  and  thrice  blessed  naviga- 


THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE        165 

tor  will  return  to  the  waiting  races,  giving  his  glorious 
message  to  mankind,  and  that  revelation  too,  will  further 
illume  the  world,  close  heralding  an  eternal  day. 

Ah,  Genius! 

Brave  intrepid  navigator  of  infinite  seas.  Speed!  Oh, 
speed,  in  thy  search  for  the  Holy  Grail.  For  God.  For 
Jehovah  and  the  Angels.  For  him  of  whom  Judah's 
prophet  sang: 

"Thou  hast  made  us  for  Thyself,  and  our  hearts  are 
restless  till  they  rest  in  Thee." 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  evening  of  the  day  that  Fiorina  was  driven  from 
the  cottage  of  Standish  Brown,  the  figure  of  a  man  could 
be  seen  climbing  and  descending  the  mountains  in  the 
dim  ghostly  light  of  the  moon.  As  he  emerged  from  one 
group  of  pines  to  another,  traversing  the  open  stretches 
of  the  solitudes,  his  face  shone  in  the  moonlight,  and  in 
spite  of  the  unnatural  agonized  look  upon  the  features, 
the  countenance  of  Standish  Brown  could  be  recognized. 

All  day  he  had  traveled  thus,  miles  upon  miles,  fiercely 
climbing  the  mountains  and  impetuously  rushing  down 
their  slopes,  with  the  tireless  and  superhuman  strength  of 
a  mad  man.  If  observed  closely,  it  could  be  seen  that 
his  eyes  were  expressionless.  His  teeth  tightly  set.  His 
jaws  rigid.  And  he  walked  without  turning  to  the  right 
or  left.  Evidently  he  was  entirely  blind  to  the  dangers, 
the  distance,  the  terrible  labors  of  the  journey.  He  did 
not  avoid  rocks  or  streams,  but  rushed  over  or  thru  them. 
His  hat  was  gone.  His  clothes  were  wet,  soiled,  and  torn. 
And  completely  oblivious  of  the  outer  world,  it  was  evi 
dent  that  his  vision  was  turned  inward  upon  himself. 
He  was  lost  to  the  material  world,  the  world  of  men ;  and 
was  held  spellbound,  in  the  play  of  an  absorbing  drama 
which  filled  his  soul. 

A  Soul. 

What? 

A  SOUL! 

That  infinite  quantity,  over  which  all  the  vast  eons  of 
man's  most  supreme  thoughts,  have  pondered,  and  sighed, 
and  died. 

A  Soul? 

Yes. 

A  Universe  wrapped  up  in  a  skull. 

Yea! 

That  infinitesimal  latent  atom  of  a  human  egg,  itself  no 

167 


168        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

bigger  than  a  pin  point,  which,  hatched  within  the  womb 
of  woman,  becomes  the  torch  of  a  great  man's  intellect. 

The  gateway  to  the  Most  High. 

The  most  sublime  theatre  of  all  the  world. 

The  wonderful  playhouse  of  thoughts. 

The  stage  where  glittering  Genius  treads  the  mill  oi 
human  life. 

THE  THEATRE  TERRIBLE! 

Yea !  Supremely  appallingly  terrible,  in  its  vast  array 
of  thought  monsters ;  with  Jealousy,  Avarice,  Incest,  Mur 
der,  Lust,  Hypocrisy,  and  countless  other  demons  of 
smothering  darkness,  howling  and  gnawing  in  the  black 
caves  of  Sin. 

And  most  supernally,  dazzlingly  terrible,  too,  in  the 
sublimity  of  its  lustrous,  divine,  ethereal,  God-like  beings ; 
Love,  Purity,  Virtue,  Martyrdom,  Innocence,  Justice,  Sac 
rifice,  and  all  the  other  unnumbered  winged  beings  of  ce 
lestial  attributes. 

Here  dwells  the  thought  of  Maternity,  Motherhood. 

The  child,  happy  and  frolicing.  In  long  baby  dresses, 
in  kilts,  in  real  boy's  clothes.  Aye,  the  full  stature  of  the 
man,  walking  more  real  than  flesh,  upon  the  stage  of  the 
mother's  soul;  while  the  babe  itself,  as  yet  unborn  to  the 
world,  still  sleeps  within  her  womb. 

Here  dwells  Ambition,  the  god  of  the  statesman,  the 
magnate,  the  priest. 

As  the  dreaming  boy  walks  beside  the  stream  and 
looks  up  at  the  stars,  a  wonderful  thought  drama  sweeps 
resistless  thru  his  soul  in  the  flight  of  one  mere  hour,  the 
outward  rendition  of  which,  requiring  an  entire  life 
time  of  rich  triumphant  years. 

Chauncey  Depew,  as  a  boy  looked  into  his  soul,  and  be 
held  himself  a  member  of  the  United  States  Senate.  After 
ward,  it  took  many  years  of  continuous  preparation,  for 
him  to  actually  materialize  that  thought. 

John  D.  Rockefeller,  when  a  mere  child,  dreamed  of 
owning  railroads,  steamship  lines.  Today,  after  a  life 
time  of  effort,  he  has  moulded  that  dream  into  a  material 
fact, 

THE  THEATRE  TERRIBLE ! 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        169 

Ye  gods  of  the  sublime  ancients!  What  other  to  com 
pare  with  it  for  regal  magnificence? 

The  student  of  history,  snuggled  up  in  a  cozy  corner 
by  the  fire,  reads  in  his  morning  paper  of  an  event.  Say, 
for  instance,  the  revival  of  the  tragedy  of  "  Julius  Caesar," 
by  the  great  actor,  Richard  Mansfield,  during  the  notable 
theatrical  season  of  1902-3. 

In  a  second's  flash,  the  student  beholds  the  great 
Caesar,  the  grim  conqueror  of  Gaul,  the  flushed  victor  of 
Pharsalia,  the  undisputed  monarch  of  the  western  world. 

At  the  same  moment  the  student  also  comprehends  the 
sublime  words  of  Shakespeare,  the  entire  matchless  flow 
of  this  great  classic  of  the  drama. 

And  simultaneous  with  the  above,  he  seees  the  worthy 
Mansfield  himself,  recalling  the  struggle  of  his  earlier 
career,  his  magnificent  production  of  "  Cyrano  De  Ber- 
gerac,"  revivial  of  "  Lear,"  etc.  etc. 

Also,  he  instantly  remembers  the  actor's  worthy  man 
ager,  Lyman  Glover,  incidentally  recalling  splendid  crit 
icisms  written  by  Mr.  Glover,  in  his  former  capacity  as 
dramatic  editor  of  the  Record-Herald. 

In  fact,  the  mere  catching  of  the  student's  eyes,  of  a 
newspaper  paragraph  consisting  of  perhaps  a  dozen  lines 
— often  a  mere  word  suffices — furnishes  in  less  time  than 
one  stroke  of  the  hour,  a  soul  drama  so  vast  that  many 
men  writing  for  many  years,  could  not  begin  to  describe. 

Yea! 

Stop!    Comprehend,  dear  reader. 

But  summon  in  your  own  wondrous  soul,  the  home  of 
your  childhood. 

Ah !  Here  it  comes  on  the  instant. 

Repress  the  surging  thoughts.  Don't  hurry.  Let  this 
drama  of  yours  come  upon  the  Sublime  Stage  slowly. 

We  will  set  the  scenery  first. 

The  Old  Home,  where  you  were  born. 

The  interior  of  the  old  farmhouse,  complete,  from  cel 
lar  to  garret.  Mother's  room.  Your  own  little  bed 
tucked  way  up  in  that  wonderful  old  attic,  where  you 
used  to  hear  the  raindrops  patter  upon  the  roof,  and  be 
so  glad  that  you  were  snug  inside. 


170         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Here  are  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  the  huge  family 
Bible,  grandfather's  clock,  the  old  sea  chest  brought  to 
America  by  your  mother's  great-grandfather.  All  this 
scenery  and  furnishings  you  now  behold  upon  the  stage. 
Yea,  even  to  the  shining  pots  and  kettles  hanging  upon' 
the  wall  by  the  big  kitchen  stove. 

Quick! 

With  one  swift  stroke,  fill  this  wonderful  stage  with 
the  life  which  filled  it  in  that  long  ago,  when  you  were  a 
tiny  child. 

Ah,  here  it  is  instantly. 

Your  dear  old  father  in  his  big  chair  by  the  grate, 
peacefully  smoking  his  long  Holland  pipe,  and  resting 
from  his  day's  toil  in  the  fields.  Here  is  your  sweet 
faced  mother,  washing  the  supper  dishes  and  your  sisters 
helping  her.  Here  is  your  big  brother,  and  perhaps  the 
guest.  Here  is  the  dog,  the  cat,  even  the  canary  bird 
in  its  cage  in  the  south  window,  with  its  head  tucked 
under  its  dainty  wing  to  dream  the  night,  hidden  among 
the  potted  plants  and  ferns  which  your  mother  treasured 
so  carefully. 

Now  step  outside. 

Behold!  The  old  farm  stretches  about  you  in  the  light 
of  that  same  mellow  moon  which  shone  down  so  warmly 
and  softly  in  the  face  of  your  first  girl,  as  in  that  rosy 
long  ago,  she  blushingly  raised  her  face  and  you  im 
printed  upon  her  red  lips  that  first  magic  kiss,  which 
thrilled  both  your  young  hearts  to  bounding  ecstasy. 

•Come,  walk  down  to  that  sequestered  nook  by  the  pond, 
where  you  told  her  of  your  love.  Down  there  where  the 
frogs  croaked  hoarsely  among  the  bullrushes,  and  the 
owls  hooted  lonesomely  in  the  nearby  oaks.  Here  in  the 
soft  summer  moonlight  where  the  fireflies  danced  among 
the  alders  by  the  roadside,  and  where  the  locust  spun 
out  his  lazy  drone  far  into  the  amorous  summer  night. 
Where  the  katydid  chirped  her  harvest  song  in  the  wil 
low  hedge  beside  the  fields  of  corn;  those  glorious  fields 
of  corn,  stretching  far  down  the  gentle  reaches  of  the 
valley,  their  silken  tassels  and  leaves  of  dusky  green, 
softly  rustling  in  the  embrace  of  the  soft  night  wind. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         171 

Yes,  here  by  the  pond,  you  told  her  your  love  story, 
yours,  of  all  the  world.  Here,  where  the  whip-poor-will 
uttered  his  lonesome  cry  from  the  orchard,  and  the  dark 
winged  bats  darted  hither  and  thither  in  the  ghostly  beams 
of  the  moon.  Here,  where  the  tiny  wavelets  of  the  pond 
murmuringly  lapped  the  pebbly  beach,  and  rocked  the 
white  and  gold  water  lillies  to  the  soft  rhythm  of  the 
breeze. 

Yeal  Here  it  is. 

All!  All  upon  this  wonderful  stage  of  your  soul. 

How  Memory,  the  gentle  player,  scatters  her  tender 
caresses  as  we  sweetly  dream. 

But  let  us  change  the  scene  from  night  to  day. 

Be  regal!  Wave  the  magic  wand,  generous  Prospero. 
Command ! 

Up  sun! 

Here  it  is — morning!  The  sun's  up.  That  same 
burning,  smoking,  yellow  ball,  which  beat  down  upon  you 
so  fiercely  the  day  you  stumbled  into  the  bumble-bee's 
nest  out  in  the  smothering,  stifling  hay  field. 

Here's  the  horses  to  water,  the  cows  to  milk,  the  chick 
ens  to  feed. 

Here's  the  great  Sunday  dinner  of  the  harvest  time. 
The  huge  plate  of  delicious  bread,  the  big  steaming  bowl 
of  milk  gravy.  The  baked  potatoes,  bursting  their  sat 
iny  skins  in  the  intense  heat  of  the  oven,  their  white 
mealy  hearts  showing  thru  the  rich  brown  cracks.  Then 
the  brown  basted,  plump,  yellow  legged  chickens,  their 
breasts  almost  bursting  with  stuffing  of  bread  crumbs 
and  nuts,  and  seasoned  with  sprigs  of  appetizing  sage. 
And  the  fat  pumpkin  pies,  an  inch  and  a  half  thick,  all 
bound  up  with  a  delicate  crust  that  fairly  melted  in  your 
mouth.  And  the  great  pot  of  delicious  steaming  coffee, 
with  the  big  pitcher  of  thick,  yellow  cream,  to  fill  the 
coffee  cup  one-third  full  if  you  wanted  to. 

Away  back  in  the  old  home. 

Yes,  it's  all  here  upon  the  Sublime  Stage. 

Here's  the  first  big  round  dollar  you  ever  earned.  See 
it  shining  in  your  hand?  Let's  see,  you  earned  it  saw- 


172         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

ing  wood  for  widow  Jones ;  and  you  spent  it?  Where  else, 
save  on  the  Fourth  of  July  in  Big  Hollow. 

Here's  the  pretty  schoolma'am  who  taught  the  coun 
try  school.  So  red-cheeked  and  cherry-lipped,  and  whose 
charming  indulgent  smile,  made  you  wish  you  were  a 
great  big  man  and  could  make  love  to  her. 

Here's .  the  big,  freckled-faced,  red-headed  boy  who 
gave  you  such  a  walloping  the  first  day  of  school.  See 
him,  darn  'im,  rubbing  his  great  hard  knuckles  into  your 
soft  tender  cheek.  And  don't  you  remember,  when 
you  went  home  that  night  after  school  with  your  bloody 
nose  and  your  torn  clothes,  of  how  you  vowed  that  when 
you  got  big  enough,  you  would  hunt  him  up,  wherever 
he  was,  Big  Hollow,  Poseyville,  or  New  York,  and  give 
him  a  good  licking.  Yes,  and  when  you  did  meet  him 
long  years  afterward,  just  as  big  and  ornery  as  ever  as  he 
still  towered  far  above  you,  that  instead  of  taking  off 
your  coat  and  wading  into  him,  you  just  gave  him  the 
glad  hand  and  looked  into  his  good-natured  face  and 
smiled,  and  sought  the  nearest  "rookery"  for  a  cold  bot 
tle  for  old  times'  sake. 

Then  your  courtship.  Your  marriage.  The  first  baby. 
Mother's  death.  Father's  funeral.  Sister's  sudden  tak 
ing  away.  Here  they  pass,  all  crossing  the  Sublime  Stage, 
flitting  behind  the  scenes,  only  to  spring  up  and  smile  at 
your  slightest  bidding. 

And  all  this  is  just  one  mere  portion  of  the  individual's 
sweet  tender  past,  as  it  is  often  similiarly  played  upon 
the  Sublime  Stage  of  the  Soul. 

Now  let  us  bring  up  a  few  scenes  of  the  future. 

How  easy  it  is. 

Every  scene  perfect,  every  actor  real,  just  as  tho  they 
were  all  materialized,  and  the  thing  done  outwardly. 

Here's  that  old  wad  of  money  you  have  slaved  all  your 
life  for,  and  now  you're  going  to  spend  it  on  the  kids. 

Robert  is  to  go  to  Ann  Arbor. 

Katherine  to  Vassar. 

You  see  them  go.  You  see  the  routine  and  joy  and  la 
bor  of  college  days.  You  see  them  return. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         173 

Katherine  just  escaped  getting  married  before  her  sec 
ond  year  in  college,  and  now  she  really  is  a  bride. 

You  are  giving  the  bride  away. 

Your  pretty  Katherine,  dressed  all  in  white,  and  smil 
ing  joyously  up  at  you,  as  you  give  her  your  parental 
blessing,  and  press  her  innocent  red  lips. 

Here's  Robert.  You  see  him  hanging  out  his  law 
shingle.  He  goes  to  Congress.  He  becomes  famous.  A 
worthy  son  of  his  old  care-worn  dad. 

Thus  the  play  swings  on  and  on,  with  its  wondrous 
show  to  the  very  last.  To  that  time,  dear  reader,  when  the 
final  curtain  drops  for  you.  When  the  footlights  go  out, 
the  foyer  and  the  dress-circle  empties,  and  the  dark 
plumed  hearse  hauls  you  out  to  the  graveyard  on  the 
hill,  and  your  poor  tired  bones  are  laid  to  rest  at  last, 
beneath  the  green  and  blooming  sod  which  gathers  us  all. 

Is  not  this  true? 

Gloriously,  superbly  true? 

Let  us  turn  from  our  own  soul  theatre,  to  those  of  the 
great  masters.  The  Titans  of  Art. 

Genesis ! 

The  glorious  "Old  Testament"  of  conquering  Israel. 

The  unknown  writers  of  these  noble  dramas  of  an 
tiquity. 

To  Plato,  who  establishing  his  great  theoretical  Re 
public,  divided  himself  into  innumerable  suffragists,  in 
order  that  his  State  might  have  real  form  and  life;  and 
such  it  has  indeed  had  for  the  students  of  all  subsequent 
times.  Plato's  "Republic."  A  grand  democracy,  teem 
ing  within  the  six  by  six  inch  skull  of  the  great  Greek 
philosopher. 

Socrates  was  content  with  the  discourse  and  compan 
ionship  of  a  single  daemon  or  spirit,  but  that  sublime 
discourse  peopled  the  Grecian  national  soul  with  hun 
dreds  of  noble  thoughts;  and  to  this  very  day,  those  im-. 
mortal  thoughts  of  his  flit  to  and  fro,  enlivening  the  wit 
of  modern  society. 

Phidias,  looking  upon  the  gorgeous  stage  of  his  soul,  be 
held  Athene,  the  colossal  virgin,  her  arms  outstretched 
in  irresistible  appeal,  begging  to  be  materialized  in  ivory 


174         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

and  gold.  Behold,  the  Parthenon,  the  jewel  casket.  Be 
hold  inside,  Athene  Parthenos,  the  immortal  goddess  with 
her  matchless  robes,  her  sapphire  eyes,  her  peerless  form, 
placed  by  the  inspired  sculptor  from  the  mighty  work 
shop  of  his  soul,  upon  the  marble  pedestal  of  the  Ac 
ropolis  of  Athens. 

The  unlettered  Mohammed,  establishing  his  religion. 
This  vision-bound  Arab  reaching  out  with  his  fierce  wild 
genius,  into  the  infinite  reaches  of  his  soul,  bringing  to 
his  idolatrous  countrymen  a  religion  of  the  sword-hand, 
which  even  to  this  very  day  tightly  grips  holy  Jerusalem, 
the  most  sacred  material  shrine  of  Jew,  Christian,  and 
Moslem. 

Studious  Dante,  too,  stocked  both  an  Inferno  and  a 
Paradise  with  the  wondrous  creatures  of  his  morbid  im 
agery. 

Audacious  Francis  Bacon,  beheld  a  boundless  universe 
within  his  soul,  and  sighed  and  wept,  that  he  could  not 
completely  catalogue  this  domain  for  the  information 
of  his  fellowmen.  With  an  intellect  which  absorbed 
every  department  of  human  knowledge,  he  wished  to  dis 
play  it  all;  but  overwhelmed  by  the  vastness  of  his  out 
look,  he  could  only  fondly  sigh,  write  a  few  pages,  and 
feebly  die. 

Upon  this  mighty  soul  stage,  first  walked  many  of  the 
noblest  characters  of  Shakespeare.  The  sublime  poet,  pen 
in  hand,  merely  sketched  them  out  on  paper  to  delight 
a  waiting  world  as  they  had  delighted  him.  They  sim 
ply  passed  from  the  stage  of  his  soul,  out  upon  the  boards 
of  the  Elizabethan  playhouse. 

Under  the  majestic  roof  of  the  noble  theatre  of  Mind, 
the  woman-denied  Spinoza  spent  his  fervid  years,  and 
later,  described  his  wonderful  comrades  of  Thought  to  an 
eager  world  of  philosophers. 

Here  the  blind  Milton,  rolling  sightless  eyes  in  nerve 
less  sockets,  beheld  with  his  real  eyes,  his  soul  eyes,  a 
drama  so  vast,  as  to  bridge  the  boundless  abyss  of  Chaos, 
from  the  red  land  of  Hell  to  the  pearly  heights  of  Heaven. 

Reader,  think  of  this  for  a  moment. 

A  man  who  was  blind,  who  could  not  behold  the  ma- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        175 

terial  world,  beheld  within  the  world  of  Thought,  the 
most  stupendous  drama  ever  conceived  in  the  soul  of  a 
mere  man. 

Was  not  his,  indeed,  a  THEATRE  TERRIBLE? 

From  out  the  world  of  thought,  the  inimitable  Balzac, 
plucked  many  soul  characters,  some  who  actually  live 
when  summoned  in  the  reading,  fairly  bursting  the  cov 
ers  of  their  books  in  the  leap  of  their  wonderful  realness. 
Critics  are  prone  to  limit  him  as  a  natural  realist;  "Ser- 
aphita"  declares  him  a  realist  of  the  soul  as  well. 

Here  the  gentle  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  first  beheld  the 
epoch  making  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."  The  emotions  of 
the  writing  of  the  death  sce;ne  of  "  Little  Eva  "  caused  her 
a  three  day's  sickness,  and  to 'this  day,  this  strictly  soul 
created  child  of  heart  strings  and  pathos  holds  Young 
America  to  the  last  sweet  word. 

Also  in  these  latter  days,  comes  the  great  singer,  Walt 
Whitman.  Unclassified,  exuberant,  fearless  sexed  as  a 
stallion;  a  most  mighty  trumpet  blower,  sounding  the 
hymn  of  the  Universal.  Waving  his  baton  in  stirring  ap 
peal,  endeavoring  to  choir  the  nations  of  the  earth  in  one 
resounding  diapason  of  peace  and  harmony.  Ever  striv 
ing  to  catch  the  wonderful  elfin  band  of  his  soul,  to  ex 
hibit  them  to  a  wondering  and  admiring  world. 

From  this  glorious  stage,  spoke  the  Raven  into  the 
listening  ear  of  the  weird  Poe. 

Here  Columbus  beheld  the  vision  of  the  New  World. 
By  his  faith  in  that  vision,  he  manned  his  ships,  he  plowed 
the  ocean ;  and  in  the  dim  morning  of  a  triumphal  day,  he 
saw  rising  above  the  wilderness  of  misty  waters,  a  glorious 
blue  ridge,  which  forged  his  surpassing  vision  into  the 
most  wonderful  material  reality.  Land!  An  island. 
The  first  stepping  stone  to  a  new  world. 

John  Brown  saw  the  vision  of  the  freed  slave  within 
the  portals  of  his  Mind.  True  to  that  vision,  he  sacrificed 
his  life  upon  the  scaffold. 

Here,  too,  the  immortal  Lincoln  beheld  the  mighty 
figure  of  Columbia,  grasping  in  her  hands  those  lustrous 
stars  of  the  Union,  which  Secession  was  trying  to  wring 
from  her  grasp.  But  Father  Abraham  placed  Columbia's 


176         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

figure  imperishable,  upon  the  pedestal  of  the  Nation. 
That  pedestal  was  swept  with  blood,  and  furrowed  with 
iron,  but  it  stood.  And  in  the  sweet  days  of  peace  that 
followed,  Columbia  no  longer  grasped  her  jewels  to  protect 
them  from  theft,  but  placed  them  in  a  glittering  crown 
upon  her  brow,  to  light  the  world  with  the  glory  of  a  na 
tion  of  free,  enlightened,  and  united  states. 

Here  the  mad  and  misguided  Booth  succumbed  to  the 
seductions  of  Fanaticism.  And  here  the  baited  Czolgoz, 
falling  under  the  fatal  spell  of  Anarchy,  struck  a  blow 
at  his  God,  believing  him  to  be  Satan. 

Here  the  dauntless  Marconi  first  beheld  the  vision  of 
tall  masts  flashing  fiery  language  across  vast  watery 
leagues  of  threshing  oceans. 

To  this  wondrous  stage  turns  the  immigrant,  and  sees 
once  more  the  castled  heights  of  the  German  Rhine,  the 
sparkling  blue  of  the  Hungarian  Danube. 

Here  are  the  white  cliffs  of  old  England. 

The  green  meadows  of  Hibernia. 

The  bleak  fjords  of  Scandinavia. 

The  long  clay  pipes  and  wooden  shoes  of  dear  Holland. 

Yea !  Here,  upon  the  stage  of  the  Theatre  Terrible,  are 
flashed  all  the  well-known  scenes  of  the  "old  countree." 

But  enough,  sweet,  patient  reader. 

You  realize,  you  comprehend,  you  know. 

A  universe  dwells  within  your  soul. 

It  contains  all  that  is  known  to  man,  and  likewise,  all 
that  is  still  unknown  to  him. 

The  Finite,  the  Known,  has  been  garnered  from  its 
flowering  fields;  but  the  Infinite,  the  Unknown,  lies  be 
fore  him  to  be  discovered,  to  be  brought  into  light,  invit 
ing  his  further  explorations. 

The  inventors,  artists,  and  the  philosophers  -of  all  the 
mighty  Past  have  brought  him  its  matchless  products,  and 
laid  them  at  his  feet.  Likewise  the  intrepid  soul  explorers 
of  the  Future,  will  bring  new  wonders  from  out  its  shin 
ing  depths  to  illume  and  delight  a  waiting  world. 

In  comparison  with  the  wonders  of  this  sublime  spirit 
ual  edifice,  the  material  wonders  of  the  world  are  as 
naught.  The  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado  is  a  mere 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         177 

scratch,  Niagara,  a  falling  raindrop,  the  highest  mountain 
a  mere  pebble,  the  combined  bulk  of  all  the  oceans,  as  a 
glass  of  water;  and  the  vast,  careening  world  itself,  a  mere 
tumble-weed,  blown  across  the  brown  prairies  by  the 
merry  winds. 

A  soul? 

Yea! 

The  greatest  playhouse  in  existence,  believing  that 
the  universe  of  God's,  like  man's,  is  wrapped  within  its 
wondrous  folds. 

The  soul ! 

The  Sublime  Stage! 

THE  THEATRE  TERRIBLE! 


CHAPTER    X 

After  driving  Fiorina  from  the  cottage,  Standish  had 
hurriedly  dressed  himself  and  started  up  the  mountain. 
He  ate  no  breakfast.  He  put  no  food  in  his  pockets,  and 
he  had  taken  no  notice  of  his  hungry  pets.  He  simply 
rushed  from  the  house  and  sprang  up  the  slopes  of  the 
Emerald.  When  a  man  is  giving  and  taking  blows  with 
Satan,  all  minor  offices  are  ignored.  The  unhappy  man 
was  entering  the  mountain  solitudes  to  triumph  or  die. 
If  he  triumphed  he  would  return  to  Plume  and  resume 
his  accustomed  duties;  if  he  lost,  the  wolves  would  pick 
his  bones. 

Shep  followed  him,  dancing  and  barking,  anticipating 
nothing  less  than  a  jaunt  with  his  beloved  master.  He 
didn't  care  for  breakfast  either,  with  that  pleasure  in  front 
of  him. 

But  suddenly  his  joy  changed  to  sorrow.  His  master 
was  throwing  stones  at  him.  At  first,  he  thought  it  was 
in  sport,  and  he  barked  all  the  louder,  and  playfully  bit 
at  the  passing  missies.  Then  the  mad  man  shouted 
threateningly,  and  a  sharp  stone  finally  hit  the  faithful 
animal,  causing  him  to  yelp  with  pain.  It  was  the  first 
blow  that  he  had  ever  received  from  the  hand  of  his 
master.  Then  another  stone  struck  his  leg  and  made  him 
limp.  But  even  then  he  did  not  understand.  The  wild 
voice  of  his  master  rang  again. 

"Get!  Get  out  of  here.  YOU!  Go,  go,"  was  the 
angry  command.  But  altho  the  poor  animal  was  really 
suffering  from  his  hurts,  yet  completely  bewildered  with 
it  all,  he  crawled  up  to  his  master,  low  upon  his  belly, 
with  his  dark  eyes  turned  up  beseechingly  and  his  tail 
beating  the  ground.  He  was  received  Avith  a  shower  of 
blows  with  a  club  of  charred  pine  the  remains  of  some 
forest  fire,  rained  savagely  upon  him  by  the  hand  that 
had  always  petted  him.  The  dog  yelped  pitifully,  and 

179 


180        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

was  fairly  beaten  to  the  ground  by  the  fierce  onslaught, 
but  even  then  he  did  not  flinch,  or  try  to  get  away.  Sud 
denly  the  blows  ceased,  and  he  was  brutally  kicked  by  his 
master's  foot,  shod,  as  it  was,  in  a  heavy  hob-nailed  bro- 
gan.  And  this  was  too  much  for  the  poor  animal.  The 
infamy  of  it.  He,  the  proud,  magnificent  collie,  kicked 
thus  like  a  common  cur. 

As  his  master's  heavy  brogan  struck  him  squarely,  piti 
lessly,  with  terrific  force  in  the  side,  Shep  gave  a  howl  of 
mingled  pain  and  despairing  bewilderment,  and  ran  back 
toward  the  cottage,  limping  and  moaning;  and  while  the 
man  started  on  unconcerned  the  faithful  animal  after 
retreating  a  short  distance,  cowered  down  in  the  bushes, 
licking  his  hurts  and  moaning  pitifully. 

All  day  the  man  strode  on.  Once  he  passed  a  waterfall. 
The  wild  rush  and  roar  of  the  waters  seeming  to  madden 
him.  Turning,  he  rushed  back  into  it  and  stood  a  mo 
ment,  the  icy  flood  drenching  him  to  the  skin.  He 
shrieked  out.  Perhaps  it  was  the  scream  of  the  Beast,  as 
it  felt  the  cold  chill  of  the  torrent. 

Then  night  came  on,  with  its  ghostly  shadows.  The 
moon  rose  and  looked  into  the  dim  glades,  and  still  the 
crazed  man  maintained  the  same  unbroken  pace. 

As  the  day  broke,  he  fell,  completely  exhausted,  beside 
a  tiny  brook,  and  thrusting  his  head  down  like  a  wounded 
deer,  he  lapped  up  a  few  draughts  from  the  cool  fountain. 
Then  turning  upon  his  back,  with  his  distorted  features 
turned  up,  he  looked  blankly  at  the  blue  sky. 

As  he  laid  there  thus,  an  animal  sprang  into  view,  mov 
ing  rapidly  with  its  nose  close  to  the  ground.  It  was 
evidently  upon  the  wild  man's  trail.  But  instantly,  as  it 
discovered  the  form  lying  still  and  silent  beside  the  stream, 
it  shrank  back  into  the  bushes,  raising  its  head  and  snuf 
fing  the  air  as  if  to  determine  whether  the  prostrate  form 
were  living  or  dead.  It  seemed  satisfied  that  the  form 
had  life,  for  it  did  not  venture  nearer,  but  crept  still 
further  back  into  the  thicket,  peering  furtively  out  from 
time  to  time.  At  other  times  it  painfully  licked  different 
parts  of  its  body. 

It  was  Shcp.     Undaunted  by  his  master's  cruel  blows 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         181 

and  curses,  and  quite  unmindful  of  his  desperately  bruised 
side,  he  had  recovered  from  his  'bewilderment  and  taken 
up  Standish's  trail,  following  it  thru  the  pathless  soli 
tudes,  to  live  or  die,  faithful  to  the  memory  of  his  beloved 
master.  Within  the  dumb  brute's  brain  was  that  instinct 
of  blind  faith,  which  the  horse  and  the  dog  have  ever 
evinced  so  nobly.  Blind,  undaunted  faith,  yea,  constant 
e'en  unto  death. 

But  to  return  to  the  man. 

Standish  was  making  the  soul-battle  of  his  life. 

Severe,  think  you,  dear  reader? 

Let  us  turn  to  the  chronicle  of  another  sorely-tempted 
individual. 

Christ,  the  Son  of  Man,  fasted  forty  days  in  the  wilder 
ness,  that  he  might  triumph  in  the  cause  of  righteousness. 
For  forty  days  and  nights,  His  soul  was  filled  with  the 
demons  of  Satan,  in  dreadful  deadly  conflict  with  the  elect 
of  Heaven.  The  most  stupendous  drama  ever  enacted  in 
the  annals  of  the  Theatre  Terrible,  or  recorded  in  the 
chronicles  of  man. 

At  last  despairing,  Satan  fell  back  into  the  black  pit 
of  hell,  while  the  glad  seraphic  songs  of  rejoicing  triumph 
ant  angels  filled  the  soul  of  the  Saviour.  The  Heavens 
opened,  and  He  saw  God.  He  hungered,  and  angels  minis 
tered  unto  Him.  Returning  to  Jerusalem,  He  performed 
His  divine  mission ;  and  expiring  upon  Calvary,  the  World 
was  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 

And  thus,  into  the  wilderness  went  Standish  Brown,  to 
fast,  to  starve,  to  subdue  the  lustful  body,  to  feed  the  weak 
spirit  with  righteous  thoughts.  Soul-food,  divine  elixir, 
quaffed  from  the  breast  of  Solitude. 

For  seven  days  Standish  plunged  on  into  the  wilderness. 
Scenting  the  smoke  of  a  prospector's  fire,  he  would  turn 
in  the  opposite  direction.  Seeing  a  settler's  cabin,  he 
would  run  away  from  it.  In  his  mad  flight  he  would 
gather  wild  berries,  and  eat  them  as  he  fled.  Once  he 
caught  a  trout  with  his  bare  hands  thrust  suddenly  into 
a  pool  of  water  left  by  the  floods,  and  eating  it  raw,  he 
threw  its  head  and  spine  into  the  bushes,  where  Shep, 
starved  to  the  thinness  of  a  wolf,  but  still  clinging  tenaci- 


182-     THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

ously  to  his  master's  trail,  found  them  and  crunched  them 
down  ravenously.  As  the  sun  rose  brightly  on  the  morn 
ing  of  the  eighth  day  of  the  unhappy  man's  wanderings, 
he  was  evir1  itly  almost  too  weak  to  rise  from  where  he 
had  fallen  in  the  dry  bed  of  a  late  spring  watercourse. 
After  lying  there  for  sometime,  completely  helpless,  he 
finally  endeavored  to  rise.  He  struggled  to  his  knees.  His 
clothes  were  in  rags,  and  his  torn  flesh  showed  thru  the 
rents  in  the  tattered  garments. 

But  he  did  not  mind  the  bleeding  flesh,  the  wounds 
were  the  sweet  thorn  pricks  of  his  temptation.  What  was 
mere  flesh  to  a  soul  at  peace  ?  Ah !  Sweet,  glorious  peace 
of  God  at  last !  And  kneeling  there  in  the  deep  sand-rip 
ples  in  the  soft  breeze  of  the  morning,  with  tears  of  joy 
rolling  down  his  emaciated  cheeks,  he  prayed  long  and 
fervently. 

His  soul  was  free  at  last.    Gloriously  free. 

He  had  passed  from  under  the  Shadow.  He  had  fought 
the  terrible  Beast  which  had  cast  that  shadow,  and  over 
its  dead  form  he  beheld  once  more  the  pure  light  of  God. 

Lust  was  slain. 

Yes,  there  it  laid,  a  corpse.    A  slain  monster  of  iniquity. 

"How  art  thou  fallen,  0  Lucifer!" 

Assured  of  its  death,  a  celestial  joy  filled  the  soul  of  the 
exhausted  man,  and  then,  lying  back  upon  the  stones, 
he  fainted. 

When  he  awoke,  the  morning  star  was  glittering  bril 
liantly  in  the  East,  just  above  the  first  gray  streaks  of 
dawn.  He  had  slept  nearly  twenty-four  hours. 

A  heavy  dew  had  wet  his  face.  He  was  very  cold,  and 
he  shook  like  a  leaf.  But  rolling  over  he  closed  his  eyes 
again.  Soon  the  sun  came  rolling  up  and  warmed  him, 
and  as  it  fully  lighted  up  the  ravine,  he  grew  wide  awake 
again,  and  sitting  up,  he  looked  about  him. 

A  few  yards  away  an  object  was  squatted,  which  he 
thought  at  first  was  a  wolf.  But  soon  he  recognized  it  as 
his  faithful  dog,  Shep. 

"Shep,"  he  called,  "Good  dog,  Shep,"  he  said  coax- 
ingly. 

Slowly  the  poor,  wounded,  half-starved  animal  crawled 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         183 

forward  on  his  belly.  He  did  not  know  whether  he  was 
to  receive  another  cruel  blow,  or  be  greeted  with  a  caress. 
His  dark  eyes  were  moist.  His  tail  beating  nervously 
upon  the  ground  as  he  slowly  crept  forward.  Finally 
reaching  his  master's  hand,  he  licked  it  eagerly  with  his 
feverish  tongue.  Then  assured,  and  snuffing  his  unspeak 
able  joy  thru  his  delicate  nostrils,  he  poked  his  brown  nose 
into  his  master's  lap ;  and  as  Standish  looked  down  at  him 
with  his  streaming  eyes,  the  poor  brute  looked  up  into  his 
face,  and  expressed  his  great  joy  in  prolonged  howls. 

Standish  hugged  him  fondly  and  wept  over  the  animal's 
cruel  bruises.  Weak  as  he  was,  he  had  discovered  them. 
Then  he  wondered  how  they  came  there.  Some  terrible 
fall  he  supposed.  But  the  dog  knew,  and  as  he  snuggled 
his  nose  with  confidence  into  his  master's  lap,  he  forgot 
them  all  in  his  great  joy.  His  good  master  was  himself 
again. 

Slowly  Standish  began  to  realize  his  desperate  condi 
tion,  dimly  recollecting  portions  of  his  wild  wanderings. 
That  which  he  could  not  recall,  the  tattered  clothes,  the 
bloody  scratches  and  cuts,  the  starving  condition  of  the 
dog  and  himself,  told  only  too  plainly.  But  again  his 
spirit  was  revived  by  the  illumination  of  a  soul  bathed  in 
the  divine  light  of  Purity.  The  day  of  trial  was  past.  The 
great  victory  was  won.  A  great  joy  would  surely  lead  him 
to  food  and  shelter. 

By  dint  of  half  crawling,  half  walking,  with  the  aid  of 
a  stick,  he  moved  towards  a  point  where  he  had  observed 
a  heavy  smoke.  The  smoke  rising  at  a  point  just  ahead 
of  him  from  over  the  crest  of  a  low  ridge. 

He  stopped  and  rested  at  least  a  dozen  times  in  the 
steep  ascent,  Shep  crawling  up  ahead  of  him.  When  the 
dog  reached  the  summit,  he  wagged  his  tail  assuringly, 
which  filled  his  master  with  hope. 

Finally,  reaching  the  brow  of  the  ridge  by  a  last  ex 
haustive  effort,  he  recognized  the  smoke  as  that  coming 
from  a  locomotive  which  must  have  just  passed.  Lying 
there  for  a  long  time,  he  rested.  Soon  another  train  rolled 
thru  the  valley.  It  was  the  second  section  of  Denver  & 
Rio  Grande,  No.  4,  eastward  'bound  for  Denver.  But  he 


184        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

did  not  know  this  at  the  time.  He  only  knew  that  it  was 
a  train,  running  upon  a  track  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge 
which  he  had  so  laboriously  ascended.  Fortunately,  he 
could  make  better  time  down  grade.  The  faithful  dog 
went  ahead  as  before.  Pausing  occasionally,  he  would  wait 
until  his  master  came  up,  and  after  licking  his  thin, 
trembling  hand,  he  would  again  lead  the  way. 

Standish  finally  reached  the  track  late  that  afternoon, 
and  digging  a  hole  between  the  ties,  he  inserted  his  stick. 
To  this  he  tied  his  handkerchief.  Then  laying  down  be 
side  the  track,  almost  fainting  from  his  exertions  and  the 
pangs  of  extreme  hunger,  he 'waited  for  help. 

As  the  sun  was  dropping  far  down  into  the  West,  he 
heard  the  low  rumble  of  a  hand-car  coming  down  the 
track,  loaded  with  a  section  crew  returning  from  their 
day's  work.  The  men  on  board  saw  the  signal,  and  slowed 
up.  Stopping  the  car,  they  leaped  off  and  greeted  Stan- 
dish,  and  observing  his  pitible  condition  the  foreman 
pulled  out  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  forced  him  to  take  a 
generous  swallow.  Standish  protested  weakly  but  without 
avail.  It  was  the  first  taste  of  liquor  he  had  ever  drank. 
Still  the  stern  uncompromising  Puritan. 

Placing  Standish  and  the  dog  upon  the  floor  of  the  car, 
among  the  tools  and  dinner  buckets,  the  men  started  on, 
and  reaching  the  lonely  station  of  Beaver  Creek,  they 
turned  the  exhausted,  half-starved  creatures  over  to  the 
station  agent,  who  was  also  the  day  operator.  Standish 
pulled  a  dollar  out  of  his  pocket,  and  handing  it  to  the 
agent,  said  faintly, 

"  I  want  to  send  a  telegram  to  Colonel  Charles  Rose  at 
Denver.  Please  write  it  out  for  me."  The  agent  nodding 
his  readiness,  Standish  dictated  the  following: 

"I  am  all  0.  K.  Will  see  you  tomorrow  or  next  day.  Wire 
Rourke  of  the  mine." 

"Please  sign  it,  Standish  Brown,"  he  added. 

"  Standish  Brown !"  exclaimed  the  operator,  in  astonish 
ment.  "  Good  God,  man,  they  have  offered  a  reward  of 
$10,000.00  for  your  whereabouts,  dead  or  alive.  It's  been 
in  the  papers  for  a  week." 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         185 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Standish,  "I  never  thought  I  was 
worth  ten  thousand  to  anyone;  it  may  be  dead,  tho,  if  I 
don't  get  a  bite  of  something  to  eat  before  long." 

The  agent  rattled  off  the  message  like  one  possessed, 
then  running  to  the  kitchen,  where  his  wife  was  getting 
supper,  he  informed  her  of  the  incident,  and  returning 
with  her,  they  helped  Standish  to  a  chair  at  the  table.  He 
ate  ravenously,  reaching  down  great  chunks  of  bread  and 
meat  to  the  starving  dog.  The  agent  soon  became  alarmed. 
He  too,  began  to  think  it  would  indeed  be  "dead,"  if  he 
didn't  check  this  fierce  onslaught  of  his  guest.  And  he 
was  actually  forced  to  stop  the  thin,  gaunt  man  from 
further  indulgence,  for  fear  that  he  might  kill  himself 
from  overeating.  Then  getting  him  upstairs  to  bed,  and 
giving  Shep  a  rug  on  the  floor,  the  agent  closed  the  door, 
whereupon,  Shep  immediately  crawled  up  on  the  bed,  and 
slept  in  his  accustomed  place  at  his  master's  feet. 

The  next  morning  at  ten  o'clock,  when  the  agent  looked 
in  on  them,  Standish  was  snoring  heavily.  But  Shep 
looked  up,  and  thrusting  his  head  between  his  paws  again, 
blinked  sleepily.  At  five  o'clock  that  afternoon  the  agent 
visited  them  again. 
.Standish  opened  his  eyes. 

"What  time  it  is,  neighbor?"  he  asked.  "When  does 
the  next  train  leave  for  Denver?  Say,  where  the  deuce 
is  this  place,  anyway?"  he  continued,  with  reviving 
powers. 

And  as  the  good-natured  agent  made  answer  to  his 
strange  guest's  hurried  questions,  Standish  laid  back  on 
the  bed  and  sighed.  It  was  at  least  fifty  miles  in  an  air 
line  from  Plume.  God  only  knew  what  the  distance  was 
as  he  had  traveled  it.  Qver  hill  and  dale,  up  and  down 
great  mountains,  including  the  Continental  Divide,  and  a 
turning  away  from  everything  that  resembled  a  human 
habitation. 

"  Call  me  at  supper  time,  please,"  he  said,  after  a  mo 
ment,  "and  say,  make  it  a  bully  one,  and  you'll  never  re 
gret  it." 

And  for  the  first  time  the  agent  laughed  at  his  guest. 


186        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

"  All  right,  Mr.  Brown,"  he  replied,  "wife  will  fill  you 
up  this  time  sure,  for  I  declare  you  seem  to  need  it." 

Standish  left  a  lot  of  happy  fellows  behind  him  at  the 
lonely  station  of  Beaver  Creek.  To  each  of  the  section  men 
he  gave  a  generous-sized  check,  and  afterward  from  Denver 
he  sent  presents  to  the  married  men's  children  and  wives. 
They  talk  about  it  to  this  day  on  the  Rio  Grande.  And 
the  station  agent  and  his  good  wife,  who  have  moved  sev 
eral  times  since  then,  invariably  receive  handsome  presents 
every  Christmas,  in  the  memory  of  two  meals  served  to  a 
man  and  a  dog  in  the  little  red  station-house  of  Beaver 
Creek. 

Standish  arrived  in  Denver  the  night  of  the  day  fol 
lowing  his  wire  to  the  Colonel,  the  Colonel  meeting  him 
at  the  depot  with  his  carriage  at  a  late  hour.  The  next 
morning  after  breakfast,  as  they  sat  in  the  Colonel's  cozy 
den,  the  following  conversation  took  place. 

Shep  was  there,  too,  lying  contentedly  beside  the  fire 
place,  with  his  brown  paws  resting  upon  the  delicate  pink 
tiling,  and  his  nose  thrust  between  them.  While  the  Col 
onel,  puffing  a  fragrant  cigar,  and  blowing  the  smoke 
toward  the  fire,  looked  up  at  Standish  curiously  and  said, 

"  Standish,  now  on  the  dead,  what  caused  you  to  give 
us  a  scare  like  this?" 

Standish  looked  dreamily  into  the  fire  for  a  moment 
without  replying,  his  face  twitching  awkwardly,  and  his 
long  legs  shifting  uneasily.  Finally  he  said: 

"  Colonel,  did  you  ever  do  anything  in  your  life  that 
you  never  told  anyone  about?  A  sort  of  a  closed-book 
incident,  you  know.  You  —  you  know  I  never  have  had 
a  chance  to  sow  my  wild  oats  yet,  Colonel.  Perhaps  that 
accounts  for  it  in  a  man  of  my  age." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  Standish  with  his  face  half 
saddened,  half  smiling,  at  the  very  vivid  recollection  of 
several  interesting  "closed-book"  incidents  occurring  in 
his  own  long  and  eventful  career,  especially  of  the  wild 
oats'  period. 

"Yes,  I  reckon  I  have,  my  boy,"  he  finally  drawled 
out,  with  deep  significance. 

"Well,  Colonel,"  continued  Standish,   "this  was  just 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        187 

one  of  those  occurrences  that  a  self-respecting  man  locks 
up  in  his  own  soul.  One  of  those  secrets  in  which  only 
God  and  the  individual  are  concerned.  I'm  sorry  I 
kicked  over  the  traces,  and  caused  you  all  this  vexation 
and  worry,  old  friend;  but  darn  it,  Colonel,  it's  hard  to 
trot  the  road  steady  all  the  time,  and  now  that  I'm  myself 
again,  I'll  try  and  make  amends.  Too  long  in  the  one 
same  rut  and  grind,  pld  friend,  will  bring  down  the 
strongest." 

The  Colonel  read  between  the  lines,  and  he  marveled 
at  the  man,  who,  motherless,  fatherless,  without  wife, 
child,  or  sweetheart  —  for  all  he  knew  —  and  possessed 
of  enough  wealth  to  tempt  him  to  the  most  supreme 
material  pleasures,  could  enter  into  the  wilderness  of 
nature  and  sweep  from  his  lonely  heart  even  the  thought 
of  indulgence. 

Standish  received  a  perfect  ovation  when  he  arrived 
at  Plume.  And  Billy,  who  had  been  taken  in  charge 
by  the  faithful  Rourke,  was  almost  overcome  by  the  great 
joy  of  again  resuming  the  company  of  his  former  friends. 
Many  searching  parties  had  been  organized  and  sent  out, 
after  Ferrari  had  imparted  the  knowledge  which  Fiorina 
had  so  tearfully  given  him. 

She  was  the  last  person  known  to  have  seen  Standish, 
and  Rourke  and  Nelson  felt  positive  that  their  employer 
had  become  temporarily  deranged — a  not  infrequent  oc- 
curence  among  those  living  in  the  Great  Hills.  Physi 
cians  generally  attribute  such  lapses  to  the  long,  dull 
monotony  of  mountain  life  and  the  high  altitude. 

Standish  earnestly  thanked  his  friends  for  their  tireless 
efforts  in  his  behalf,  explaining  matters  as  best  he  could. 
He  offered  money  to  several  members  of  the  searching 
parties,  which  was  almost  indignantly  refused,  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  the  Colonel  had  offered  a  reward  of 
$10,000.00  for  the  person  of  his  principal. 

Standish  soon  resumed  his  accustomed  duties  at  the 
mine,  altho  it  took  weeks  of  careful  dieting  to  nourish 
him  back  to  his  former  vigor. 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  few  days  which  Standish  spent  in  the  wilderness, 
Fiorina  passed  in  tears  and  intense  anxiety.  Poor  Ferrari 
was  at  his  wits  end,  not  only  in  controlling  his  personal 
anxiety  for  the  absence,  and  possible  death,  of  his  em 
ployer,  but  also  in  quieting  the  fears  of  his  granddaughter. 
One  evening  as  they  sat  at  the  supper  table,  Fiorina  had 
suddenly  broken  into  tears  as  Ferrari  sorrowfully  told 
her  of  the  non-success  of  the  searching  parties.  The  old 
man  looked  at  her  pityingly,  as  he  read  her  secret,  saying : 

"  Leetle  one,  me  knowa,  me  savy,  you  lova  zee  beeg  man, 
all  same  sweetheart,  like  wife." 

Fiorina  did  not  reply,  but  continued  her  passionate  sob 
bing,  concealing  her  face  with  her  handkerchief.  Ferrari 
arose,  and  taking  off  a  cover  of  the  stove  he  placed  a  live 
coal  in  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  After  pacing  back  and  forth 
in  the  little  room  for  a  few  moments,  nervously  blowing 
great  clouds  of  smoke,  with  his  dark  eyes  gleaming  fierce 
ly  from  under  their  snowy  brows,  he  suddenly  exclaimed : 

"  Saccaree !  Love  is  dam !  Zee  hella  feel,  my  leetle 
babee,  my  sweet  leetle  Fiorina.  She  lova  zee  beeg  man. 
She  worse  than  die  'bout  him.  Ah!  Jeeza  Krista!  Love 
is  dam.  What  for  is  hurtem  heart,"  he  mused,  as  if 
questioning  some  unseen  philosopher. 

Later,  when  he  brought  her  the  good  news  of  Standish's 
safe  return,  he  was  again  greeted  with  tears,  but  they 
were  tears  of  joy  this  time,  and  he  thought  that  at  this 
outburst  his  home  would  again  be  gladdened  by  the  sound 
of  his  little  one's  voice,  singing  gaily  as  she  served  him 
with  the  hot  supper  and  coffee.  But  not  so,  she  did  not 
brighten.  Days,  weeks,  months  passed,  but  the  glad  voice 
was  heard  no  more. 

Fiorina  had  experienced  since  her  first  transports  of 
joy  at  the  news  of  Standish's  return,  a  gradual  sinking  in 
her  heart. 

189 


190        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

DOUBT  had  crept  into  her  soul.  The  ingenuous  faith 
of  her  girlhood  had  suddenly  been  replaced  by  a  great  un 
certainty.  It  was  the  effect  of  her  newly-amved  woman 
hood.  The  happy,  artless  girl  has  no  doubts,  but  the 
sensitive,  experiencing  woman  has. 

Doubt  is  the  quaking  aspen  of  the  soul.  Its  roots 
strike  deep  into  the  fertile  soil  of  thought,  and  its  timor 
ous  leaves  tremble  in  the  never  ceasing  draught  of  im 
pressions. 

The  impress  of  the  terrible  words  with  which  Standish 
had  addressed  her  the  day  of  his  departure  had  never  left 
her.  True,  they  were  only  the  fierce  raving  words  of  a 
deranged  man,  yet  they  rang  in  her  sensitive  ears  fear 
fully.  They  caused  her  to  dou'bt.  When  doubt  enters 
the  soul,  Faith  weakens,  Love  droops  and  despairs. 

Standish's  mad  words,  followed  by  his  prolonged  ab 
sence,  had  suddenly  confronted  the  intuitive,  light-hearted, 
unreasoning  maid,  with  perplexities,  worries,  calculations. 
She  was  placed  in  an  atmosphere  that  was  unnatural 
to  her.  She  could  not  reason.  Calculation  numbed 
her.  Her  soul  being  of  that  spontaneous,  refined 
nature,  which  laughs  in  the  sun,  droops  beneath  the 
clouds,  chills  in  the  storm.  A  light-seeking  nature,  which 
thrives  only  in  an  atmosphere  of  sunshine  and  smiles, 
whose  subtile  elements,  when  agitated  with  weightier  sub 
stances,  thicken,  become  congealed,  and  refuse  to  flow. 

Thus  Fiorina  mused  and  wept  continuously.  Perhaps 
Standish  did  not  love  her  as  a  woman.  Perhaps  he  only 
loved  her  as  a  child.  Perhaps  —  perhaps  he  did  not  love 
her  at  all,  with  that  supreme  passion  which  a  strong  man 
should  display  toward  that  woman  whom  he  desires  to 
make  his  wife,  and  which  a  true  woman  herself  demands. 
All  these  questions  filled  the  despairing  soul  of  the  Italian 
maid. 

Fiorina  had  never  thought  like  this  before.  The  wom 
anhood  which  Standish  had  discovered  in  her,  and  which 
had  tempted  him  almost  beyond  his  strength,  was  now 
unfolded  to  herself.  The  morbid,  blind,  questioning, 
thoughts  of  the  full-sexed  woman  began  to  torment  her. 

As  with  the  face  of  that  great  statue  of  Morning,  which 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        191 

Michael  Angelo's  art  created  to  adorn  the  tomb  of  Lorenzo 
de  Medici;  that  muscular,  forceful,  virgin  figure,  whose 
face  expresses,  in  lieu  of  the  bright  smile  of  a  celestial- 
dawn  maiden,  the  wearied,  serious,  slowly  awakening  vis 
age  of  a  mature,  pain-conscious  woman.  That  cold  mar 
ble  face  which  seems  to  conceal  a  soul  filled  with  the 
vague  dim  consciousness,  that  life,  the  real,  ripe  life  of  the 
full  mature  years,  contains  the  ashy  cup  of  sorrows, 
labors,  aches,  and  pains;  as  well  as  the  golden  sunshine 
of  happiness  and  joy;  and  further,  was  it  worth  the 
while  for  the  creature,  and  whose  the  responsibility  of 
placing  wormwood  in  the  cup  of  pleasure? 

Thus  Fiorina  was  dimly  beginning  to  know  life.  Na 
ture,  in  maturing  her  to  womanhood,  had  presented  her 
a  glittering  dagger  with  which  to  wound  her  flesh.  A 
torch  to  light  her  soul.  A  veil  to  hide  her  tears.  Thus 
doubt  gnawed  at  her  heartstrings.  Her  cheeks  lost  their 
bloom.  Her  plump  form  thinned.  Her  natural  gaiety 
of  spirits  sank  to  the  depths  of  silent  grief,  and  her  dark 
eyes  crept  far  back  into  their  sockets,  their  lids  seemingly 
ever  brimming  with  tears. 

As  she  stood  one  morning  looking  out  of  the  south 
window  of  their  cottage  upon  the  first  snows  of  winter, 
all  glistening  white  and  pure  in  the  rays  of  the  rising 
sun,  she  seemed  to  be  a  thing  of  almost  transparent  waxen 
beauty.  Going  to  the  east  window,  where  her  canary  bird 
was  perched  in  its  cage  and  protected  from  the  cold 
draught  by  a  heavy  shade,  she  raised  the  shade,  and  the 
warbler  bathed  soft  and  mellow  in  the  bright  sunshine, 
bobbed  its  tiny  head  from  side  to  side,  as  if  but  half 
awake.  Fiorina  looked  wistfully  at  the  yellow  thing  and 
sighed  deeply.  All  the  longings  of  her  sad  heart  went 
out  to  the  pretty  artless  creature. 

"  Nicca,  Nicca,  sing  to  me,"  she  said  appealingly,  put 
ting  up  her  hand  between  the  bars  of  the  cage  for  the 
bird  to  kiss,  the  tapering  fingers  showing  rosy  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun  as  the  rich  blood  coursed  thru  them.  The 
songster  pecked  daintly  at  its  mistress'  fingers  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  darted  away. 


192 

"Nicca,  Nicca,  sing  to  me,"  she  repeated  imploringly, 
her  dark  eyes  moistening.  Returning  to  its  perch  the 
yellow  beauty  spread  its  wings  in  the  warm  sunshine,  first 
one  and  then  the  other,  darting  its  slender  head  under 
each  wing  and  thrusting  its  tiny  beak  into  the  soft  down, 
as  if  enjoying  the  dainty  charms  and  delicate  odor  of  its 
tender  flesh. 

"  Chirp,  chirp,"  it  peeped,  looking  out  of  the  window 
as  its  tiny  soul  began  to  awaken.  Presently,  as  the  sun 
mounted  higher  and  higher,  it  began  a  timorous,  plaintive 
song.  Then,  as  the  sunbeams  gradually  warmed,  its  song 
grew  louder  and  louder,  and,  finally,  as  all  the  gladness 
of  the  morning  filled  its  piping  soul,  it  'burst  forth  in 
full-throated,  beatific,  spontaneous  melody. 

Fiorina  stood  there  with  her  hands  clasped  in  exquisite 
ecstasy,  the  passionate  effulgent  vibrations  of  the  glad 
song  thrilling  her  soul  with  a  divine  meaning ;  and  falling 
upon  her  knees  before  the  porcelain  image  of  her  Saviour, 
she  was  filled  with  the  full;  glad  sweetness  of  womanly 

joy- 


CHAPTER   XII 

Grim  winter  had  come  again,  binding  up  the  village 
with  its  icy  bleakness,  and  loosening  the  snowy  folds  of 
that  white  winding  sheet  which  for  eight  months  of  the 
year  shrouds  the  giant  forms  of  the  Eternal  Hills. 

For  days  the  storm  had  raged,  wildly  tossing  the  white 
legions  of  the  snow-king  upon  the  fierce  shrieking  winds. 

Winter  never  entirely  leaves  the  mountains.  Among 
the  high  peaks  and  the  Continental  Divide,  it  has  built 
its  eternal  lair.  In  the  summer  time  it  withdraws,  cower 
ing  far  back  into  the  canons,  crevices,  caves,  and  gulches 
of  the  north  slopes,  but  at  the  very  first  moment  of  its 
carnival  season,  it  leaps  shrieking  and  exulting  into  the 
depths  of  the  shivering  valleys  and  gulches,  and  rushing 
from  the  mountain  fastnesses  out  upon  the  wide-spread 
ing  plains,  scourges  to  action  its  terror-spreading,  frost 
biting,  storm-frenzied  legions  of  ice. 

The  wild  Tartar  winds  are  the  mad  bellowing  steeds 
of  the  sjnow  and  ice  legions.  Skimming  the  air  with  their 
white  riders  and  frosty  manes,  they  drive  the  terror-struck 
birds  to  the  far  southland.  They  flay  bruin  to  his  lair 
and  shut  him  up  in  his  cave  for  his  long  winter's  nap. 
They  seal  the  hole  of  the  squirrel,  the  chipmunk,  and 
the  "gopher.  They  lock  up  the  trout  streams,  and  cast 
the  sun-laughing  lakes  and  pools  into  vast  mirrors  of 
glittering  ice.  Upon  the  Great  Plains  they  freeze  the 
brown  tufted  buffalo  grass  fast  to  the  poverty-stricken 
soil,  and  smother  the  drought-defying  cacti  in  pillows  of 
fleece. 

Hoary,  vicious,  cruel  old  Winter. 

Monarch  of  Bites. 

King  of  Stings. 

Great  Prince  of  Nips. 

Lash  your  steeds.  Split  the  air  with  your  wild,  exultant 
laughter.  Chain  up  the  waters  with  your  frosts.  Scourge 

193 


194        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

flesh  to  its  red  fires;  and  bind  up  the  great  sun  in  your 
conquering  strands  of  ice. 

For  days  the  elements  had  raged  thus  in  the  gulch. 
Occasionally  the  sun  would  shine  palely  thru  the  rifts 
in  the  clouds,  but  the  storm-king  would  as  quickly  rally 
his  white  legions  and  again  storm  the  battlements  of  light 
with  his  folds  of  shining  white.  It  was  the  great  Winter 
of  1898-99.  Known  in  the  Rocky  Mountain  region  and 
grimly  recorded  in  the  annals  of  mountain  railroading, 
as  the  most  terrible  winter  ever  experienced  on  the  Great 
Divide.  The  unusually  heavy  profits  made  by  the  moun 
tain  roads  the  previous  summer,  were  not  only  wTholly 
wiped  out,  but  a  heavy  deficit  was  entailed,  in  penetrating 
and  battling  among  the  white  ramparts  of  the  snow-king. 
The  C.  C.  &  U.  was  blocked  from  Denver  to  Plume.  A 
train  which  had  arrived  in  Plume  several  days  previous 
to  the  storm  we  are  recording,  was  lying  under  light  steam 
at  the  depot  completely  snowed  in.  Most  of  the  mines 
were  shut  down  owing  to  lack  of  fuel,  and  also  to  the 
difficulty  which  the  miners  experienced  in  going  to  and 
from  their  work. 

Ferrari  was  at  home  this  particular  day,  Standish  hav 
ing  informed  his  men  that  they  could  stay  home  on  full 
time  until  the  storm  abated.  The  men  had  gratefully 
accepted  the  generous  favor  and  remained  in  the  bosom 
of  their  families.  The  wives  and  children  were  happy 
in  the  secure  home  possession  of  husband  and  father,  and 
hugely  enjoyed  themselves  in  their  warm,  snug  cottages; 
while  outside  the  storm-king  raged  incessantly  and  the 
slopes  of  the  Great  Hills  smoked,  misted,  and  scudded  in 
the  fierce  onslaught  of  his  fury. 

Altho  Ferrari  remained  close  in  his  cottage  that  day, 
Rourke  and  Nelson,  forever  wrapped  up  in  the  life  of 
the  mine,  had  managed  to  plow  their  way  thru  the  deep 
drifts  to  Standish's  cottage  and  report  "to  their  chief. 
They  did  not  attempt  to  enter  the  mine,  however,  and 
after  warning  Standish  of  the  vast  masses  and  combs  of 
snow  which  hung  menacingly  over  the  crest  of  the 
Emerald,  and  which  were  especially  noticeable  from  the 
village,  and  also  pointing  out  the  great  treacherous  snow- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        195 

fields  lying  many  feet  deep  upon  the  nearer  slopes  of  the 
same  mountain,  they  returned  to  their  homes. 

"  During  a  mountain  blizzard  the  snow  generally  lies  in 
great  unbroken  drifts  in  the  lower  levels  of  the  gulches, 
but  upon  the  upper  slopes  it  tumbles  and  rolls  in  the  fury 
of  the  wind  like  the  billows  of  a  white  ocean ;  while  upon 
the  more  lofty,  distant  cliffs  and  crags,  it  lies  massed  and 
crouched  as  a  lion  of  threatening  white,  in  enormous 
overhanging  folds,  combs,  and  cornices. 

In  the  Rocky  Mountain  region  the  snow  is  looked  upon 
and  called  the  White  Death. 

The  White  Wolf. 

During  several  months  of  winter  it  is  a  constant,  ever 
close  hovering,  hideous  death  shape  to  the  anxious  mind 
of  the  miner's  wife,  holding  close  and  fast  within  its 
sinuous  folds  of  shining  fleece  all  the  terrors  of  the  death- 
dealing  snow-slide.  A  death  which  snuffs  out  human 
lives  as  noiselessly,  remorselessly,  and  completely,  as  a 
draught  of  air  snuffs  out  the  flame  of  a  candle. 

The  miner's  wife  kisses  her  husband  good-bye  on  a 
bright  winter's  morning.  He  plows  his  way  thru  the 
deep  snow  on  his  way  to  the  mine.  When  suddenly,  per 
haps  when  he  is  only  half  way,  he  sees  a  white  cloud 
bearing  down  upon  him  from  the  upper  slopes  of  the 
mountain.  He  leaps  and  tries  to  escape,  but  it  avails  lit 
tle  in  the  deep,  overpowering  drifts,  and  usually  the 
course  of  the  dreadful  death  shape  is  so  uncertain  that 
many  have  saved  their  lives  by  calmly  waiting  and  stand 
ing  still,  in  the  hope  that  it  may  turn  from  its  course  and 
pass  harmlessly  by.  In  any  event,  it's  a  mere  gamble, 
standing  still  or  running,  for  the  slide  moves  with  the 
velocity  of  a  hurricane.  Striking  its  victim,  it  sweeps  him 
away  in  a  smother  of  silence,  and  a  few  days  later  they 
bring  him  home  in  a  box,  after  a  score  or  more  of  men 
have  exhausted  themselves  in  digging  his  remains  from 
under  the  debris  of  the  remorseless  slide.  Sometimes 
they  do  not  find  his  body  until  the  snow  melts  in  the 
spring,  and  thus  the  unhappy  wife  and  family  live  thru 
the  long,  dreary  months  haunted  day  and  night  by  a 
prospective  funeral.  And  sometimes,  too,  the  husband 


196        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

never  returns,  but  is  buried  under  tons  and  tons  of  rock, 
which  the  slide  has  gathered  in  its  fall. 

A  quartz  miner's  life  is  always  a  very  hazardous  one, 
and  altho  he  is  prone  to  laugh  at  its  dangers,  yet  his  poor 
wife  feels  the  ever  crouching  terror  of  it ;  and  ever  dread 
ing  its  appalling  uncertainty,  she  generally  lives  to  bury 
her  dead  one  by  one.  The  husband,  the  sons,  perhaps 
the  grandsons;  crushed  with  rock,  swallowed  up  in  the 
snow-slide,  or  torn  and  rent  by  the  premature  blast,  or 
the  missed  shot.  Thus  hideous  death,  met  in  several 
terrifying  forms,  ever  abides  with  her,  as  her  men  folk 
burrow  for  gold  in  the  bowels  of  the  Great  Hills. 

In  its  remarkable  gyrations,  a  snow-slide  is  almost  as 
freakish  as  a  Kansas  cyclone. 

A  snow-slide  has  been  known  to  cut  a  bunk-house  in 
two  with  the  keenness  of  a  cheese  knife,  engulfing  the 
sleeping  inmates  in  one  end  and  precipitating  them  into 
the  depths  of  the  gulch  below,  and  piling  upon  their 
prostrate  forms  the  bulk  of  a  tumbling  crag;  only  to 
leave  the  men  in  the  opposite  end  of  the  house,  if  they 
escaped  suffocation  from  the  vacuum  caused  by  the  ter 
rific  onrush  of  the  slide,  entirely  unharmed,  almost  un 
shaken  in  their  bunks,  with  their  erstwhile  snug  quarters 
open  to  the  sky. 

A  slide  has  been  known  to  spare  a  fragile  pine,  and 
yet  smash  to  kindling  wood  a  massive  shaft  house,  carry 
ing  it  down  to  yawning  depths,  with  all  its  heavy 
machinery. 

As  the  sides  of  a  mountain  often  resemble  a  steep 
pitched  roof,  one  can,  to  a  certain  extent,  imagine  the 
phenomenon  of  a  snow-slide  on  a  small  scale,  by  starting 
a  marble  from  the  peak  of  a  steep-roofed  house.  Starting 
slowly,  it  perhaps  bounces  several  times  as  it  hits  the 
different  tiers  of  shingles  or  tiles,  then  reaching  the  eaves 
it  leaps  off  with  a  bound,  perhaps  falling  to  the  roof 
of  a  shed  beneath,  and  with  constantly  accelerated  speed, 
finally  plunging  into  the  street  or  yard,  and  quite  ^likely 
rolling  many  feet  upon  the  level  until  it  bumps  into  a 
fence  or  other  obstruction,  and  stops. 

Now,  instead  of  a  mere  marble  rolling  thus  over  a  few 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        197 

paltry  feet  of  roof,  imagine  a  'ball  of  snow,  as  large  as 
the  bulk  weight  and  diameter  of  a  twenty-story  building. 
Say,  for  instance,  a  ball  the  size  of  the  Masonic  Temple  of 
Chicago,  flying  like  a  diminutive  world  or  moon,  with 
all  the  terrific,  gathered  up,  hurtling  force  of  a  full  mile 
or  more  of  almost  perpendicular  fall. 

A  gigantic  ball  of  snow,  ice,  rock,  and  fallen  trees,  of 
a  mass  three  or  four  hundred  feet  thick,  plunging  thus 
thru  one  or  two  miles  of  sheer  yawning  space. 

To  attempt  to  realize  it,  just  fancy  a  mile  set  up  on  edge, 
and  see  if  you  would  care  to  stand  upon  the  high-reared 
end  and  jump  off. 

Imagine,  then,  just  such  a  colossal  ball,  and  they  are 
often  many  times  larger,  and  of  different  shapes  and 
forms,  rolling  and  plunging,  flying  and  leaping,  over  a 
gigantic  snow  and  slippery  ice-coated  roof,  which,  stretch 
ing  and  sloping  precipitously  down  a  full  mile  or  more, 
ends  abruptly  in  the  depths  of  a  narrow  gulch.  Thus 
trees,  boulders,  crags,  shaft-houses,  whole  mine  dumps, 
and  sometimes  even  villages,  are  swept  away  in  the  ter 
rible  leap  of  these  monstrous  death  balls.  Swept  away  as 
ruthlessly  as  the  heavy  wooden  ball  of  the  bowler,  rushing 
down  the  polished  slopes  of  the  alley,  drives  the  helpless 
ten-pins  into  the  sack. 

It  is  rare  for  anyone  to  know  the  exact  starting  of  a 
slide.  But  the  usual  cause  is  merely  the  addition,  of  snow- 
flakes. 

Atoms  of  frost,  falling  one  by  one. 

One  and  one  makes  two.  Two  and  two  makes  four, 
and  so  on,  ad  infinitum. 

Tiny  particles  of  ice,  dropping — dropping,  falling — fall 
ing,  adding — adding,  multiplying  into  great  fleecy  piles, 
swelling  into  huge  drifts,  and  rolling  up  into  great  un 
broken  snowfields. 

Vast  mats  of  wet,  moist  snow,  freezing  as  it  falls,  and 
blowing  over  the  crests  of  the  mountains  like  shifting 
sand;  reaching  out  and  forming  monster  combs  and  cor 
nices,  clinging  precariously  with  the  weight  of  tons  and 
tons,  to  the  smooth  granite  crags  and  crevices  of  the 
jagged  crests  of  the  Terrible  Hills,  and  the  more  regular 


198        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

formation  of  the  towering  walled  heights  of  the  Con 
tinental  Divide,  much  as  one  sees  them  on  a  small  scale 
form  and  project  over  the  eaves  of  a  building. 

Sometimes  these  great  treacherous  combs  form  from 
twenty  to  forty  feet  thick  over  a  mountain  crest  a  half  a 
mile  long.  Tons  upon  tons  of  snow,  thus  hovering  over, 
projecting,  and  clinging  to  the  dizzy  eaves  of  a  mountain, 
formed  by  the  eternal  sweep  of  the  continental  winds 
blowing  miles  above  the  plains,  and  only  awaiting  the 
moment  which  a  mounting  spring  sun  or  a  warm  chinook 
wind  offers,  to  plunge  in  screaming  exultation  into  the 
doomed  valley  below;  which  all  peaceful  and -smiling,  is 
seen  as  a  tiny  vale  of  green  and  white  thru  the  mists 
and  vapors  of  towering  Titans  of  granite  and  marble, 
thrust  dizzily  upward  in  the  world  of  clouds,  the  earth 
companions  of  stars,  moons,  and  nebulae. 

THE  ADDITION  OF  SNOWFLAKES! 

This  is  the  true  and  latent  force  of  the  snow-slide. 

But  the  thing  that  starts  it,  is  often  only  recorded  in  the 
voiceless  silent  Ibosom  of  a  solitude  so  profound,  that  even 
virgin  Luna  veils  her  face  in  terror  as  she  swiftly  glides 
across  its  ghostly  strand. 

It  is  an  appalling  chronicle  of  Nature,  to  the  true 
history  of  which  only  Nature  herself  can  certify. 

Mere  atoms  dropping  from  a  cloud,  light  as  air,  falling 
one  by  one  upon  a  pine  bough.  Filling  up  the  crevices 
far  above  timber-line  among  the  high  poised  and  hair 
balanced  talus.  Perhaps  one  of  these  crevices  becomes 
entirely  filled  with  a  mass  of  the  beautiful.  The  tempera 
ture  suddenly  rises  and  the  snow  falls  wet  and  heavy. 
Then  a  cold  draught  sweeps  from  the  Northwest  and  a 
heavy  crust  is  formed.  Then  a  great  death  comb  begins 
to  extend  its  dreadful  tentacles  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 
Soon  a  gusty  wind  rises,  and  tugs  fiercely  at  this  ghastly 
finger  of  death  as  it  lies  dizzily  overlapping.  The  heed 
less,  eternally  teasing  wind  continues  to  sport  and  play 
with  this  dread  finger.  Finally  it  breaks,  and  falling, 
starts  other  pieces  of  crust  and  masses  of  loose  snow. 

Or  perhaps,  so  innocent  is  Nature  afield  and  at  play, 
a  snow  bird  alighting  upon  a  timber-line  pine  clinging 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        199 

to  the  face  of  a  cliff,  and  whose  boughs  are  heavily  laden 
with  snow,  precipitates  a  tiny  mass  of  the  beautiful  down 
to  a  slightly  lower  level  of  the  precipice  which  is  over 
lapped  with  a  thin  crust  of  ice  projecting  perilously  out 
over  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  This  sudden  fall  breaks  off  a 
piece  of  it.  They  fall  together,  a  few  feet  below  breaking 
off  an  icicle  hanging  on  a  steep  ledge. 

The  entire  mass  then  falls  upon  the  edge  of  another 
ledge,  upon  which  is  a  small,  loose  rock  or  stick.  This 
adds  weight  to  the  mass,  and  in  the  fall  of  a  few  feet  the 
infant  has  both  weight  and  momentum.  It  rapidly  picks 
up  and  starts  larger  rocks,  sticks,  and  masses  of  snow  and 
ice,  also  quantities  of  loose  snow  begin  to  be  sucked  into 
the  vacuum  caused  by  the  fall,  and  which  follow  the  mass 
closely  and  with  ever  increasing  volume. 

Striking  a  frozen    cascade  or    watercourse,  the    mass 

tlides  swiftly  across  the  smooth  frozen  surface,  to  plunge 
ownward  with  a  fierce  glut  of  spill  and  roar,  upon  a  huge 
snow  field,  which,  lying  at  an  angle  of  eighty  degrees  and 
barely  clinging  to  the  face  of  the  mountain,  is  just  ready 
for  something  to  start  it ;  a  vast  pillow  of  fine,  granulated, 
dry  snow,  weighing  hundreds  of  tons,  and  as  full  of  re 
morseless  smother,  crush,  and  stifle,  as  thousands  of  bush 
els  of  grain  bursting  the  walls  of  a  tide-water  elevator  and 
sweeping  into  the  sea. 

Away  then,  goes  the  whole  mass,  plunging,  plowing, 
leaping,  rolling,  twisting,  grinding,  and  smothering; 
gathering  force,  bulk,  and  velocity  with  every  foot  of  fall. 

In  half  a  mile,  or  twenty-six  hundred  and  forty  feet, 
of  almost  perpendicular  fall,  it  attains  a  resistless  force, 
whose  impact  is  certain  death  and  destruction  to  the  ob 
ject  it  meets;  and  whose  path  is  the  steep  slopes  of  the 
mountain  stretching  dizzily  down  a  full  mile  or  more  be 
low  in  the  clouds  and  mists,  smoothed,  perhaps,  by  glacial 
action,  to  the  polish  of  a  toboggan  slide,  and  over  which 
the  White  Wolf  plunges  with  frightful  velocity,  screaming 
its  death  song  to  the  helpless  landscape  below. 

Sometimes  a  giant  crag  itself,  cracked  and  split  asunder 
long  ago  by  the  dynamic  forces  of  frost  and  sun,  poises 
just  ready  to  fall ;  and  as  the  slide  leaps  down  the  moun- 


200        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

tain  and  strikes  it  with  terrific  impact,  the  enormous  mass 
of  rock  groaning  like  a  wounded  giant,  slowly  starts,  and 
finally  tottering,  falls  with  the  appalling  welter  of  a  shat 
tered  mountain  in  the  wake  of  the  swifter  slide.  And  long 
after  the  slide  itself  has  swept  into  the  depths  with  a  fierce 
expiring  roar,  the  enormous  bulk  and  gigantic  splinters  of 
the  shattered  crag,  crunch,  batter,  grind  and  pulverize  the 
landscape  as  they  hurl  themselves  downward  with  fearful 
screams  and  bellowings,  to  bury  themselves  with  deafen 
ing  thuds  and  batterings  into  the  howling  and  groaning 
muck  and  ruin  of  the  lower  landscape. 

Sometimes  these  falling  crags  choke  up  and  block  whole 
streams,  forming  large  dams  which  cause  the  waters  to  rise 
and  back  up  to  form  tiny  lakes  and  pools.  While  occas 
ionally  a  stream  is  turned  completely  from  its  course  and  is 
forced  into  a  new  and  more  tortutous  channel. 

Such  are  the  ways  and  circumstances  of  a  snow-slide  in 
the  central  Rocky  Mountain  region,  but  more  often  the 
snow-slide  is  started  by  the  vast  combs  and  cornices  cling 
ing  to  the  edges  of  the  topmost  cliffs  and  precipices  of  the 
Continental  Divide  and  its  parallel  ranges,  and  formed  by 
a  steady  sweeping  northwest  wind  which  blows  almost  con 
stantly  from  September  until  April.  Either  in  midwinter, 
early  or  late  spring,  from  the  effects  of  slight  or  heavy 
thaws,  an  unusually  heavy  wind,'  or  from  their  sheer 
weight — this  latter  item  largely  dependent  upon  the  extent 
of  the  snowfall  of  the  season  which  usually  attains  a  depth 
of  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet — these  combs,  weighing  hun 
dreds  of  tons,  fall,  letting  loose  horrid  elements  of  death 
and  destruction.  In  many  places  among  the  Great  Hills, 
these  slides  fall  or  "run" — as  the  miners  say — regularly, 
and  the  inhabitants  of  the  region,  knowing  their  habits, 
are  prepared  for  them  accordingly. 

This  then,  is  the  phenomenon  of  a  snow-slide  in  the 
Rocky  Mountains.  Started  by  the  sheer  weight  of  tiny 
accumulated  snowflakes,  it  may  engulf  a  whole  village. 
It  is  the  most  dreaded,  and  one  of  the  most  common  forms 
of  death  on  the  Great  Divide. 

The  awful  Render  of  beetling  crags. 

The  ghostly  Shroud  of  the  unhappy  miner. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         201 

The  grim  Devastator  of  the  Great  Hills. 
The  White  Wolf  of  the  Great  Divide. 

Fiorina  went  to  the  west  window  and  gave  a  last  glance 
at  the  dying  winter  day.  The  storm  'was  undoubtedly 
breaking.  The  snow  had  ceased  falling,  but  the  wind  was 
rising  and  flecking  light  whiffs  of  snow  from  the  pine 
boughs  and  the  slightly  crusted  drifts,  and  blowing  the 
loose  snow  in  a  wide  seething  sea.  Ugh  1  How  it  moaned 
its  dismal  dirge  in  the  chimney.  A  faint  flush  was  in 
the  distant  west.  The  first  bit  of  sky  color  thruout  the 
long  winter  day.  A  ribbon  of  pink  flung  by  the  setting 
sun  upon  the  white  tip  of  the  Peak,  as  the  golden  ball 
rolled  on  its  swift  way  toward  Chinaland. 

She  looked  up  at  the  towering  white  crags  fearfully.  A 
thin  curl  of  smoke  was  rising  from  the  chimney  of  Stan- 
dish's  cottage,  far  up  the  side  of  the  Emerald.  The  cot 
tage  itself,  almost  buried  in  the  deep  snow  banks,  being 
further  identified  by  the  eaves  partially  visible  above  the 
smother  of  white.  Fiorina  wondered  if  a  slide  could  pos 
sibly  come  down  upon  it.  The  once  great  forest  of  coni 
fers  above  it  had  become  greatly  thinned  out  during  the 
past  few  years,  the  various  mines  in  the  vicinity,  including 
the  40  Rounds,  having  used  large  quantities  of  them  for 
timbering.  There  was  still  a  thin  fringe  a  short  distance 
above  the  cottage,  the  valiant  spruces  tossing  their  bran 
ches  about  in  the  wild  wind  seemed  utterly  defiant  of 
slides  and  weathef.  To  the  timid  fear-struck  woman, 
however,  they  appeared  like  mere  pipestems.  It  did  not 
seem  to  her  that  they  could  offer  much  resistance  to  a 
heavy  slide.  And  after  darting  a  last  prayerful  glance  in 
the  direction  of  the  cottage,  she  pulled  down  the  shade, 
and,  lighting  the  lamp,  she  began  the  supper. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

At  midnight  Fiorina  awoke  with  a  start.  She  fancied 
that  she  had  heard  a  great  roar  and  crash,  and  a  cold 
sweat  suffused  her  brow.  Instantly  the  master  thought 
came  to  her — Standish. 

Throwing  back  the  heavy  coverings  of  her  bed  she 
stepped  into  her  soft  warm  comforts,  and  going  to  the 
west  window  raised  the  shade.  The  stars  were  shining 
brightly.  The  wind  had  died  down,  and  the  vast  solitudes 
were  wrapped  in  absolute  silence  save  for  the  rush  of  the 
stream  over  its  rocky  bed.  She  looked  eagerly  toward  her 
lover's  cottage. 

"  Merci  Jesu ! "  she  exclaimed,  reeling  back  as  tho 
struck  with  a  blow.  Recovering  herself,  she  rubbed  her 
eyes  and  looked  again,  pressing  her  cheek  closely  against 
the  pane  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  distinguish  the  roof  or 
chimney  of  the  cottage. 

But  no,  the  cottage  was  positively  not  there. 

As  she  started  back  in  wild  dismay,  the  frost  on  the 
pane  almost  tore  the  skin  from  her  cheek.  Nearly  expir 
ing  in  a  paroxysm  of  fear,  with  a  tumult  of  agonizing 
thoughts  agitating  her,  she  rushed  to  wake  her  grand 
father  in  the  next  room.  Reaching  his  bedside,  she  hesi 
tated,  stopped,  and  returned  to  the  window;  where,  strain 
ing  her  vision  until  her  dark  eyes  fairly  started  from  her 
head,  she  endeavored  to  assure  herself  that  she  was  not 
dreaming  and  the  cottage  was  there. 

But  no,  there  was  no  mistake,  the  house  had  com 
pletely  disappeared. 

Returning  to  the  center  of  the  room,  the  stars  lighting 
it  dimly,  she  strove  to  gather  her  senses,  a  great  horror 
filling  her  soul.  Then  dressing  herself  rapidly,  shaking 
in  an  ague  of  fear,  she  flung  a  heavy  shawl  over  her 
shoulders  and  pulled  on  a  pair  of  mittens.  After  unlock 
ing  the  door,  she  returned  for  a  moment,  and  taking  from 

203 


204         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

its  place  in  the  front  room  her  image  of  the  Saviour,  she 
placed  it  in  her  bosom ;  and  returning  to  the  front  door 
she  stepped  softly  out  in  the  hitter  cold  of  the  ghostly 
mountain  night,  leaving  her  grandfather  to  his  dreams. 

Fiorina  never  could  tell  how  she  reached  the  site  of  the 
Brown  cottage.  It  is  a  mystery  to  her  as  well  as  to  others 
even  to  this  day.  Fairly  wallowing  waist  high  in  the  deep 
snow  drifts  as  she  climbed  foot  after  foot  of  the  steep  trail, 
she  often  fell  at  full  length.  Once  she  was  completely 
lost  to  view,  swallowed  up  in  a  large  drift  of  light  snow 
which  had  blown  into  a  depression  of  the  trail.  Almost 
overcome  by  her  exertions,  she  laid  half  smothered  in  the 
suffocating  fleece,  but  finally  managed  to  emerge  in  safety. 
By  this  time  a  cloud  of  steam  arose  from  under  her  shawl, 
and  she  was  perspiring  as  freely  as  tho  she  was  taking  a 
Turkish  bath.  But  thru  it  all,  her  eyes  were  never 
once  taken  from  the  spot  where  Standish's  cottage  might 
by  some  miracle  appear. 

It  was  fearfully  cold.  The  stillness  of  the  ghostly  winter 
night  was  appalling.  Across  the  creek  a  snow-slide  came 
rushing  down  the  slopes  of  the  Castle,  falling  with  a  heavy 
smothered  thud  into  the  stream  and  followed  by  a  long 
streamer  of  light  snow.  A  huge  rock  followed  in  its  wake, 
filling  the  gulch  with  the  boom  of  its  resounding  blows. 
"  Crash-crash,  crack-crack,  boom-boom ! "  it  leaped  and 
rolled,  finally  smashing  into  the  creek  with  a  last  shatter 
ing  roar.  Smaller  slides  were  coming  down  all  about  her 
as  she  struggled  forward.  But  she  had  no  thought  of  the 
terrors  of  the  dread  slide  or  of  the  arctic  chill  of  the  winter 
night.  Only  the  agonizing  thought  of  her  lover's  fate 
filled  her  distracted  soul. 

Finally  she  reached  the  site  of  the  cottage,  but  not  a 
board  or  a  splinter;  not  even  a  brick  of  the  chimney  was 
left  to  tell  the  tale.  A  great  naked  gash  cut  deep  in  the  side 
of  the  mountain  was  the  mute  evidence  of  the  fatal  slide. 
The  former  fringe  of  conifers  above  the  site  of  the  cottage 
was  completely  swept  away,  and  only  an  inch  or  so  of  light 
snow  and  frost  covered  the  path  of  the  slide  where  she 
now  stood  in  silent  despair  gazing  into  the  depths.  Sweep- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         205 

ing  it  away  with  her  hands  she  vainly  searched  for  some 
fragment  of  the  foundation. 

Long  she  labored  there  with  despairing  moans,  until 
holes  were  worn  through  her  thick  mittens  and  her  hands 
were  covered  with  blood.  Above,  the  great  stars  gleamed 
coldly  down  upon  her  from  the  vast  vault  of  heaven,  and 
all  about  her  lay  the  ghostly  fields  of  newly  fallen  snow. 

Suddenly  she  arose  from  her  knees  and  looked  intently 
downward  at  the  creek  where  it  flowed  some  five  hundred 
feet  below.  A  great  mound  of  debris  was  piled  up  where 
the  slide  had  fallen  into  it,  and  the  wild  waters  were  surg 
ing  and  gurgling  around  and  over  the  enormous  mass 
which  had  so  suddenly  choked  its  channel. 

"Merci  Jesu!  He  be  dead — dead!"  she  shrieked  in 
despair,  taking  from  her  bosom  the  image.  "Yes!  It 
would  mark  both  their  graves,"  she  thought,  and  pressing 
it  to  her  lips,  she  prepared  to  plunge  downward  toward 
the  cold  waters  beneath,  to  die  upon  the  grave  of  her 
lover.  A  calmness  came  over  her  as  she  kissed  the  image 
and  prayed  there  in  the  wilderness  of  white.  Peace- 
sweet  peace,  had  come  to  her  at  last.  She  would  be  his 
bride  in  death,  if  not  in  life. 

Advancing  unhesitatingly  to  take  the  leap,  and  stand 
ing  half  poised  for  a  moment  on  the  brink,  she  was 
startled  by  something  cold  being  suddenly  thrust  into  her 
half  opened  hand.  Uttering  a  little  shriek  of  fear  and 
shrinking  back,  she  discovered  it  to  be  the  cold  muzzle 
of  a  dog. 

It  was  Shep,  who  immediately  leaped  up  into  her  lap 
licking  her  bruised  hands  eagerly  as  she  stooped  down  to 
embrace  him,  the  beloved  pet  of  her  adored.  Then,  as  she 
crouched  there  with  the  faithful  animal,  she  thought. 
"  Had  he  been  carried  down  in  the  wreck,  and  somehow 
escaped  from  the  ruins?"  Suddenly  she  heard  a  sound, 
that  proved  to  be  the  door  of  the  tunnel  banging  dismally 
against  the  side  of  the  mountain. 

"  Could — could  it  be  possible  that  some  one  was  in  the 
mine?"  If  so,  together  they  might  find  the  ruins  of  the 
cottage,  and  perhaps  rescue  her  lover  if  he  were  still  alive. 
Surely  if  Shep  had  escaped,  there  might  be  some  hope 


206        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

for  Standish.  And  as  Shep  had  started  for  the  mouth  of 
the  tunnel,  wallowing  heavily  in  the  deep  drifts,  she  fol 
lowed  him,  a  vague  hope  lighting  up  her  haggard  fea 
tures.  Reaching  the  tunnel  door  she  peered  intently  into 
the  long  black  hole. 

Yes!— No! 

Yes,  it  was  gloriously  true !  A  light  was  visible,  show 
ing  dimly  in  the  far  end  of  the  tunnel.  It  must  be  the 
fireman.  She  felt  of  the  steam  pipes  which  furnished 
the  power  to  run  the  hoisting  plant  in  the  interior  of  the 
mine.  They  were  quite  warm,  almost  too  hot  for  her 
hand.  Yes,  it  must  be  the  fireman  or  engineer.  But  why 
were  they  not  in  the  boiler  house  close  by?  She  would 
see. 

The  boiler  house  was  built,  in  fact  anchored  with  heavy 
cables  to  the  mountain,  close  up  under  an  overhanging 
ledge  to  the  right  of  the  tunnel  entrance,  its  stack  run 
ning  up  alongside  the  sheer  wall  of  the  mountain.  Going 
to  the  door  Fiorina  timidly  opened  it  and  looked  in.  No 
one  in  sight.  Entering,  she  called,  but  no  one  answered, 
tho  the  fire  showed  signs  of  having  been  banked  early  in 
the  evening,  not  later  than  midnight.  Again  she  entered 
the  tunnel,  undoubtedly  the  engineer  or  fireman  was  in 
the  hoisting  chamber. 

Speeding  down  the  wet,  slimy  floor,  splashing  showers 
of  thin  mud  on  the  gray  granite  walls  and  on  the  steam 
pipes,  she  reached  the  huge  chamber  which  had  been 
blasted  out  of  the  solid  granite  at  the  end  of  the  tunnel 
for  the  hoisting  machinery  which  old  Peter  had  promised 
to  instal  in  the  mine  just  before  his  death.  Looking  cau 
tiously  around  the  corner,  she  espied  a  light  burning  near 
the  great  drum  around  which  was  wound  the  steel  cable 
of  the  hoist.  She  could  see  no  one,  but  could  hear  Shep 
sniffing  and  snifling  about  the  steam  coil. 

Remaining  in  the  shadow  of  the  drum,  she  carefully 
advanced  and  peeped  around  it.  And  there — calmly  read 
ing  by  the  light  of  a  candle,  with  his  back  close  to  the 
warm  steam  coil,  and  Billy  curled  up  in  a  ball  at  his  feet, 
was  her  adored,  Standish  Brown. 

Casting  all  reserve  to  the  winds,  the    exhausted,    joy 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         207 

crazed  maiden  rushed  toward  him,  and  falling  upon  her 
knees,  buried  her  head  in  his  lap,  passionately  kissing  his 
hands  between  her  sobs  of  joy. 

"  Oh,  Meester  Brown,"  she  cried  breathlessly,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak,  "Your  house  all  gone.  Slide  come 
down.  Down  in  creek  now.  I  think  you  gone  dead. 
Climb  trail  to  see.  I  go  down  to  creek  to  see  you,  but 
Shep  he  come,  lead  me  here.  Ah,  Meester  Brown,  I  so 
happy  to  see  you  'gain.  I  be  so  lonesome  without  you. 
Why  you  not  come  to  see  me?" 

For  answer,  the  man  gathered  her  up  in  his  arms  and 
pressed  her  to  his  breast.  Between  her  sobs  she  continued 
brokenly,  giving  an  occasional  fierce  little  shake  of  her 
head. 

"You  naughty  man.  You  leaf  me.  Drive  me  away. 
Me,  your  leetle  Fiorina.  You  come  back  to  Plume.  You 
stay  'way  from  me  forever  then.  Ah,  I  cry  my  eyes  out 
'bout  you,  Meester  Brown.  I  hafe  much  pride  too,  Mees 
ter  Brown.  I  run  not  after  zee  man,  he  must  come  see 
me.  You,  hear?"  she  added  with  mock  seriousness.  Then 
nestling  down  into  his  arms  like  a  tired  child,  she  grew 
silent. 

After  a  time  she  looked  up  into  his  silent,  serious  face 
which  showed  dimly  in  the  light  of  the  flickering  candle. 
Their  eyes  met.  His  shining  in  a  great  glory,  hers  melt 
ing  in  blissful  joy.  Within  his  heart  was  a  vast  unex- 
pressible  love  for  this  child  of  Italy.  Lifting  up  her  head 
she  pressed  her  red  lips  with  melting  passion  upon  his 
mouth,  and  exclaimed  softly: 

"  Ah,  Meester  Brown,  I  lofe  you  so.  'Deed  I  nearly  die 
'bout  you.  Leetle  Fiorina  nearly  jump  into  creek  and  go 
dead,"  then  her  head  dropped  back  upon  his  arm. 

If  there  was  any  lingering  doubt  in  her  heart,  it  was  dis 
pelled  the  next  moment,  for  speaking  at  last,  he  voiced 
earnestly  and  tenderly  the  deep  serious  language  of  his 
heart. 

"  Little  one.  My  own  sweet  little  one,  Fiorina.  I  will 
never  leave  you  again.  I  will  stay  with  you  always.  You 
shall  be  my  own  little  wife.  You  and  Ferarri  shall  live 
with  me  in  a  nice  new  cottage  down  in  Plume,  away  from 


208        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

these  terrible  slides.  You  shall  have  Billy.  Shep  will  live 
with  us.  And  nothing  shall  ever  part  us,  little  one,  save 
death  itself."  As  he  finished,  he  lowered  his  head  to  the 
joyous  eyes  and  melting  lips  of  the  happy  maid.  Their 
lips  met  once  more,  and  their  starving  love  hungering 
hearts  sucked  up  the  sweet  juices  of  flesh. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  until  the  candle  began  to  flicker 
ominously  low  in  the  socket.  Fiorina  was  half  asleep. 
Standish  rose,  and  laid  her  on  the  bunk  by  the  side  of 
the  warm  steam  coil.  Over  her  he  threw  a  great  bear 
skin,  a  present  from  the  Colonel.  With  the  cottage  swept 
away,  it  was  the  sole  remaining  article  of  his  household. 
Fiorina  opened  her  eyes  as  he  placed  the  robe  over  her. 

"  Go  to  sleep  now,  little  one,"  he  said,  "I  will  leave  Billy 
and  Shep  here  with  you,  and  go  down  and  tell  Ferrari. 
You  have  nothing  to  fear,  little  one,  I  will  be  back  soon," 
and  kissing  her  dark  eyes  to  sleep,  he  tucked  her  in  under 
the  great  warm  robe. 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  three  o'clock.  Then  passing 
thru  the  tunnel  he  stepped  forth  under  the  stars. 

Yes,  the  cottage  was  gone.  The  dear  old  home  was 
swept  away.  His  foreman's  timely  advice  and  his  own 
judgment  had  saved  both  him  and  his  pets  from  a  ter 
rible  fate.  Just  before  dark  he  had  swept  the  slopes  and 
crest  of  the  Emerald  with  his  field  glasses,  also  noting  the 
very  questionable  protection  of  the  thin  fringe  of  spruces 
above  the  cottage;  he  was  convinced  that  the  interior  of 
the  mine  was  good  enough  for  him  that  night,  especially 
as  the  fireman  and  engineer  were  snow  bound,  and  it 
devolved  upon  him  to  keep  up  the  fire  under  the  boiler 
to  prevent  the  pipes  from  freezing. 

With  the  cottage  had  gone  his  library  and  the  books 
of  the  mine.  His  heart  fairly  smote  him  as  he  thought 
of  his  father's  violin  swept  away.  But  he  had  that  last 
precious  letter  of  his  tucked  safely  in  his  inside  pocket 
next  to  his  heart.  And  too,  the  Colonel  down  in  Denver 
had  a  piece  of  granite  tipped  with  the  first  ore  struck  in 
the  tunnel.  "The  Foot  of  Granite"  as  it  were.  He  had 
given  it  to  the  Colonel  to  use  as  a  paper  weight.  Now  that 
his  own  specimen  was  destroyed,  he  would  ask  the  Col- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         209 

onel  for  his.  It  seemed  to  him  that  these  articles  were  his 
most  precious  treasures,  outside  of  his  darling  Fiorina. 
Poor  material  things  to  be  sure,  but  did  they  not  represent 
sentiment,  the  truest  and  noblest  wealth  of  life? 

Most  of  the  ore  chute  which  extended  down  from  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel  to  the  railroad  siding  was  gone,  and 
two  cars  of  the  C.  C.  &  U.  had  also  been  swept  away,  to 
gether  with  a  considerable  stretch  of  siding.  And  to  this 
day,  showing  upon  the  books  of  the  railroad  company  in 
the  car  accountant's  office  in  Denver,  is  the  following 
entry : 

"Narrow  gage  ore  cars,  Nos.  871  and  492,  were  swept  away 
by  a  snow  and  rock  slide  from  the  company's  siding  at  the  40 
Rounds  mine  at  Plume.  Loss,  total." 

Not  a  scrap  of  the  ore  chute,  the  cars,  and  the  cottage, 
were  ever  recovered  from  under  the  tons  upon  tons  of 
debris  piled  up  in  the  bed  of  the  creek. 

As  Standish  struggled  down  the  trail  to  Ferrari's,  he 
wondered  how  in  the  name  of  heaven  the  frail  and  deli 
cate  Fiorina  had  ever  managed  to  reach  the  mine.  It  was 
almost  a  miracle  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  thought,  "a  miracle  wrought  only  by  love. 
God  bless  her,  I  have  at  last  come  into  my  own." 

Arriving  at  Ferrari's,  he  rapped  loudly  upon  the  door. 
The  aged  Italian  rose  quickly,  something  important  must 
have  happened  for  anyone  to  rouse  him  at  this  untimely 
hour. 

"Who  there?"  he  asked  huskily,  opening  a  crack  of 
the  door  and  shivering  in  his  shirt,  with  his  old  purply 
veined  legs  half  trembling  in  the  cold  draught. 

"It's  me,  Standish  Brown,"  replied  the  tall  miner, 
and  adding  good-humoredly  as  Ferrari  admitted  him ; 
"You  lazy  old  Dago,  to  keep  me  out  in  the  cold  so  long." 

Without  replying  save  with  a  relieved  grunt,  Ferrari 
looked  hastily  in  the  direction  of  Fiorina's  room,  the  door 
of  which  was  ajar.  Advancing  to  shut  it,  he  was  amazed 
to  find  that  her  bed  was  empty,  and  with  instantly  clear 
ing  mind,  he  remembered  that  he  had  also  found  the  out 
side  door  unlocked.  Standish  instantly  noted  the 
blanched  face  of  the  old  man  and  spoke  up  quickly. 


210        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

"  Do  not  fear,  good  Ferrari,  she  is  safe."  The  aged  for 
eigner  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  and  started  to  fix  the  fire. 
Then  as  he  got  into  his  clothes,  Standish  told  him  the 
whole  story,  all  save  the  love  part  of  it.  Then  nerving 
himself,  he  also  told  that.  The  old  man  listened  very 
attentively.  Occasionally,  his  eyes  would  moisten,  but  he 
kept  nodding  his  head  approvingly,  which  greatly  assured 
and  comforted  the  speaker. 

"  Ferrari,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  love  your  little  one.  I 
want  her  for  my  wife.  What  do  you  say?" 

For  reply,  Ferrari  went  into  the  front  room,  and  Stan- 
dish  could  hear  him  prowling  about  among  Fiorina's 
trinkets  on  the  parlor  shelf.  Presently  he  returned,  softly 
closing  the  door.  In  his  hands  were  two  daguerreotypes, 
set  in  old-fashioned  elaborately  carved  wooden  frames 
lined  with  polished  copper  and  old  gold  plush.  Gravely 
handing  one  to  Standish,  he  said: 

"Stando,  this  my  wife.  I  love  her  dam  good.  She 
good,  pure,  sweet.  All  same  like  Virgin  Mary.  Work  like 
hell  for  me."  Then  handing  him  the  second  picture,  he 
said,  with  the  same  deep  and  expressive  dignity: 

"  This  my  daughter,  leetle  Fiorina's  mother.  She  good, 
angel.  Both  good.  Both  live  in  heaven.  Way  up  with 
Mary.  All  live  together  with  Jeeza  Krista,  My  leetle 
Fiorina,  she  good,  too.  Dam  good.  She  lova  you  like 
hell.  All  good.  By  godda,  Stando,  all  good.  Good,  good. 
Yes,  you  taka  my  leetle  babee,  Fiorina.  I — I  stay  with 
you?"  he  added  questioningly. 

Standish  nodded  affrmatively. 

"Good,  dam  good.    When  you  get  married?" 

Standish  looked  at  his  watch. 

"If  the  roads  are  passable,  at  four  o'clock  this  after 
noon,"  he  answered. 

The  old  Italian  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  saying: 

"Ah,  saccaree,  zip;  Italia  man,  him  hot,  like  fire — but 
Merican  man,  Jeeza  Krista,  him  devil,  all  same  like  hell." 

Then  looking  at  Standish  more  seriously  he  added  re 
flectively  : 

"Good  tho,  bully  good.  Ah,  Stando,  when  zee  lova 
comes,  marry  queek,  scoot,  then  you  no  get  thin.  Geta 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         211 

zee  fat  on  zee  rib.  Be  happy  all  time.  I  go  get  breakfast 
now.  You  go  get  my  leetle  babee.  We  all  eata  here." 

When  Standish  left  Ferrari's  it  was  five  o'clock.  Slowly 
he  toiled  up  the  trail,  Fiorina's,  and  his  own  tracks  made 
coming  down,  helping  him  considerably.  After  replen 
ishing  the  fire  under  the  boiler,  he  lighted  a  candle  at  the 
tunnel's  mouth  and  re-entered  the  mine.  Shep  greeted 
him  as  he  entered  the  hoist  chamber  by  wagging  his  tail, 
and  Billy  blinked  his  eyes  lazily  from  his  warm  nest  near 
the  steam  coil. 

Fiorina  was  fast  asleep.  Standish  peered  down  at  her 
beautiful  childlike  face.  It  was  quite  thin  now.  He  had 
a  dim  remorseful  consciousness,  that  her  precious  little 
heart  could  have  told  why  the  face  was  thin.  He  felt 
ashamed  that  he  had  abused  the  frail  beauty  by  staying 
away  so  long.  But  after  he  had  slain  his  unholy  lust  for 
her,  he  had  felt,  even  then,  too  polluted  to  again  seek  her 
pure  company.  And  she  had  proved  herself  noble  and 
true  to  her  sex  by  not  seeking  him  after  his  return. 
Thru  it  all,  however,  he  had  felt  that  in  some  manner, 
in  some  way,  the  day  would  come  when  he  could  declare 
his  honest,  pure  love  for  her.  He  had  ever  prayed  that 
it  might  be  so,  and  now  his  prayers  were  gloriously  an 
swered — the  day  had  come. 

As  he  looked  down  at  her  he  trembled  in  the  excess  of 
his  emotions.  He  knelt  beside  the  bunk  where  the  beauti 
ful  woman  slept.  Yes,  he  had  passed  through  the  Shadow, 
he  had  slain  the  Beast,  and  a  great,  pure,  and  holy  love 
shone  from  his  eyes.  He  was  gloriously  absolved. 

At  that  moment  he  became  conscious  of  the  near  pres 
ence  of  a  newcomer,  and  turning,  he  beheld  a  face  and 
form  strangely  familiar  to  him,  which  smiled  and  pointed 
at  the  walls  of  the  rocky  chamber.  Happy  is  he,  who  can 
smile  as  Standish  did  at  this  stranger's  appearance.  It 
was  Fate,  recalling  to  his  mind,  that  after  her  cruel  denial 
of  him  nearly  twenty  years  ago  in  this  same  gray  vault 
of  the  mountain,  and  cruely  tearing  from  him  the  hand 
of  Mollie  Rpgan,  she  had  now  brought  him  a  beautiful 
bride,  the  fairest  of  the  fair.  He  smiled  his  thanks  at  her, 
and  the  dream  form  vanished. 


212         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Suddenly  Fiorina  stirred,  the  long  lashes  trembled  and 
the  dark  eyes  opened  like  sun-kissed  violets.  And  there 
in  the  soft  candle  light  they  looked  into  the  blue  depths 
of  her  lover's.  Reaching  up  her  soft  hands  she  held  his 
face  between  them  and  pulling  down  his  head  she  pressed 
her  lips  to  his. 

"  Mine,  all  mine.  Zee  beautiful  good  man,  all  mine," 
she  murmured,  toying  with  his  chin  and  pinching  his 
nose  as  if  she  were  holding  some  great  doll  and  admiring 
its  waxen  beauty.  Perfectly,  divinely  happy,  she  again 
pulled  down  his  head,  this  time,  to  her  bosom.  In  the 
embrace  she  felt  the  porcelain  image  of  the  Saviour  press 
ing  against  her.  Bringing  it  forth,  she  pressed  her  lips 
to  it  and  mutely  handed  it  to  the  wondering  man.  Who, 
noting  for  the  first  time  the  poor  wounded  fingers  of  her 
dainty  hands,  which  had  dug  so  vainly  in  the  snow  for 
a  trace  of  him,  not  only  pressed  his  lips  to  the  image  but 
also  covered  her  hands  with  caresses. 

"  Sweet  Jesu,"  she  murmured  softly,  returning  the  im 
age  to  her  bosom,  "Him — Him  sava  you.  Me,  too,"  she 
added,  as  she  thought  of  her  narrow  escape  from  taking 
the  death  leap  over  the  ledge. 

"You,  you  lofe  me?"  she  continued,  pressing  her  face 
to  his.  Standish  released  himself  from  her  tight  embrace 
and  bending  over  her,  said: 

"  Ah,  they  say  that  love  is  sweet,  Fiorina,  but  I  say  that 
it  is  heaven,  sweet,  sweet  heaven." 

Her  face  lighted  up  at  these  ardent  words.  Once  more 
she  pulled  down  his  head,  and  whispering,  said: 

"When  we  get  married?" 

"  Today,  this  very  afternoon,  if  we  can  get  to  Joetown," 
was  his  whispered  reply. 

Fiorina  seemed  to  fairly  vibrate  with  the  glad  words, 
and  releasing  him,  she  said  reproachfully,  as  tho  she 
would  long  remember  his  neglect  of  her: 

"  You — you  naughty,  naughty  man.  You  stay  'way  so 
long." 

Then  she  arose,  and  they  talked  and  chatted  as  of  yore 
in  the  dim  candle  light  until  seven  o'clock,  when  they 
walked  down  the  long  tunnel  and  out  of  doors. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         213 

Rourke  was  just  coming  up  the  trail.  As  he  reached 
the  site  of  the  cottage  he  was  evidently  in  a  state  ol  great 
excitement  and  concern,  for  having  noted  the  change  in 
the  landscape  from  the  village,  he  was  in  great  doubt 
as  to  whether  Standish  had  taken  his  advice  and  was  safe 
in  the  mine  or  not.  But  Standish  was  waving  and  calling 
to  him  from  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  and  thus  assured 
he  came  toward  them  displaying  every  symptom  of  as 
tonishment  at  the  sight  of  Fiorina,  altho  he  had  noticed 
the  broken  trail  up  the  mountain,  supposing  that  it  might 
be  Ferrari  or  some  other  party  investigating  the  disap 
pearance  of  the  cottage. 

"Red,"  said  Standish,  drawing  himself  up  proudly, 
"You  won't  have  to  keep  house  for  me  any  more.  Allow 
me  the  honor  of  introducing  to  you  the  future  Mrs.  Stan- 
dish  Brown." 

Invariably  during  Standish's  absence  from  Plume  down 
to  Denver  or  elsewhere,  Rourke  had  looked  after  his  cot 
tage  and  household  pets,  to  which  circumstance  Standish 
was  referring  when  he  alluded  to  Rourke's  keeping  house 
for  him. 

Smiling  respectfully  to  Fiorina,  the  burly  miner  doffed 
his  cap,  and  bowing,  said: 

"  'Twas  well  ye  took  me  warnin',  Mr.  Brown,  fer  I  see 
the  worst  has  happened,"  pointing  to  the  great  gash  in 
the  side  of  the  Emerald. 

"Yes,  Red,"  replied  Standish,  "with  the  cottage  swept 
away,  you  see  I  have  a  second  reason  for  dispensing  with 
your  services  as  my  housekeeper.  Indeed,  I  think  I  got 
a  pretty  strong  hint  from  the  powers  that  be,  to  get  a 
wife  and  a  new  cottage,  and  live  like  a  white  man  in 
town." 

As  Rourke  looked  up  he  felt  very  happy  for  his  em 
ployer.  Fiorina  under  the  excitement  and  pleasure  of 
the  past  few  hours  was  very  beautiful,  and  a  marvel  of 
blushing  color.  And  as  Standish  stood  there  towering 
beside  her,  looking  down  the  gulch  at  the  Rowing  eost  all 
crimson  with  the  sunrise,  he  resembled  a  great  lion,  who, 
standing  majestically  upon  some  high  raised  rock  of  the 


214        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

desert  with  heavy  mane  tossing  in  the  breeze,  proudly  de 
fies  all  the  world  to  deprive  him  of  his  tawny  mate  who 
crouches  at  his  side. 

Early  that  afternoon,  Standish  took  Ferrari  and  Fiorina 
down  to  Joetown,  the  county  seat,  in  a  cutter  drawn  by 
four  powerful  mountain  horses.  They  had  quite  a  souse 
thru  the  deep  snow,  but  arrived  smiling  and  happy. 
Procuring  a  marriage  license,  Standish  escorted  his  bride 
to  the  parlors  of  the  leading  hotel,  and  they  were  married 
by  a  justice  of  the  peace  at  four  o'clock,  the  appointed 
hour. 


PART  THREE 


THE    FIRST    PLAYER    IN    THE 

R6LE   WHICH    GLORIFIES    AN 

ILLUSTRIOUS    NATION 


BOOK  ONE 

THE  POT  THAT  BOILS  A  MOUNTAIN 


CHAPTER  I 

WHEN  Standish  Brown  went  to  Denver  the  first  of 
the  year  to  balance  accounts  with  Colonel  Rose, 
he  met  with  a  great  surprise. 

"Standish,"  said  the  Colonel  in  a  solemn  tone  which 
was  rather  unusual  for  him,  "this  will  be  the  last  time  that 
I  will  have  the  pleasure  of  settling  accounts  with  you,  as 
today  I  retire  from  all  active  business.  Rather  guess  it's 
about  time — don't  you  think?  Sixty  years  of  active  life 
had  ought  to  'be  enough  to  satisfy  most  any  one,  especially 
when  one  is  the  father  of  competent  sons  to  carry  on  the 
business." 

"Well,  well,  Colonel,"  replied  Standish,  almost  overcome 
at  this  sudden  announcement,  "I  most  certainly  congratu 
late  you  upon  your  determination  to  rest  upon  your  well 
won  honors — but  to  be  selfish,  old  boy,  what  in  the  deuce 
am  I  going  to  do  with  all  this  stuff  on  my  hands?"  he 
added,  pointing  to  the  huge  bundle  of  papers  lying  upon 
the  table  which  represented  his  various  investments. 

The  Colonel  smiled  good-humoredly  over  his  glasses 
at  his  apparently  greatly  perturbed  and  bewildered  princi 
pal; 

"Oh,  that's  easy  enough,"  he  replied,  "fortunately  I  am 
able  to  recommend  a  capable  party  to  you,  especially  as 
he  is  my  own  son,  and  who  will  always  be  in  a  position 
to  command  the  old  man's  help  whenever  he  gets  stuck. 
Oh,  John — John,  please  come  here  a  moment,"  he  called, 
addressing  an  individual  who  was  apparently  busily  en 
gaged  at  a  desk  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room. 

John  Charles  Rose  was  two  years  older  than  Standish, 

217 


218        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

a  graduate  of  an  Eastern  college,  becoming  a  member  of 
the  Colorado  bar  in  1880.  He  was  a  very  different  nature 
from  that  of  his  father,  entirely  lacking  the  frank  genial 
atmosphere  of  his  sire,  having  inherited  the  more  reserved 
and  haughty  disposition  of  his  mother  who  came  of  an 
aristocratic  Kentucky  family.  Standish  had  riever  liked 
John  Charles,  altho  he  had  known  him  since  1883.  The 
presence  of  the  young  attorney  invariably  irritated  him 
whenever  he  encountered  it.  He  always  felt  chilled,  as 
if  he  were  intruding  himself  upon  a  person  who  felt  him 
self  in  every  way  his  superior.  Upon  rare  occasions  when 
they  had  met,  wrhich  was  almost  always  in  the  Colonel's 
office,  they  had  conversed  upon  books  and  current  events. 
But  whatever  the  topic,  John  Charles  displayed  a  narrow 
estheticism  which  completely  chilled  and  silenced  the 
warm  tho  roughly  expressed  sentiments  of  Standish.  The 
lawyer,  naturally  very  precise  and  methodical,  was  highly 
insistent  and  critical  upon  pronunciation  and  derivation. 
Language  was  first  with  him,  thought  and  idea,  no  matter 
how  original  and  interesting,  was  invariably  second. 

Standish,  forgetting  in  the  warm  ardor  of  his  en 
thusiasm  the  presence  of  a  self  appointed  critic,  would 
start  to  express  some  interesting  thought  or  sentiment, 
perhaps  of  Emerson  or  Thoreau,  both  favorites  of  his, 
when  the  ever  exacting  and  insistent  John  Charles,  would 
check  him  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  with  a  correction 
on  pronunciation,  or  give  vent  to  a  cutting  remark  upon 
the  poor  grammar  displayed  by  the  conversationalist. 

John  Charles  himself,  was  almost  void  of  intuition,  a 
bigoted  disciple  of  that  antiquated  school  of  mental  science 
which  refuses  to  acknowledge  intuition  as  the  clearest  and 
most  instantaneous  reasoning  faculty  of  the  mind.  A 
school  that  can  only  think  by  striking  its  flabby  hands 
upon  its  thick  skull,  and  thus  beating  with  heavy  blows, 
accepted  dogmas  into  its  scanty  intellect.  Reason,  accord 
ing  to  John  Charles,  was  a  heavy  ear  splitting  convulsion 
of  the  brain.  If  the  language  was  correct  in  his  estima 
tion,  the  idea  would  convulse  the  brain  with  a  fierce 
churning  motion  and  end  in  a  dull  shattering  thud  some 
where  in  the  vast  ponderosity  of  his  gray  matter  with  its 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        219 

consequent  delivery  to  and  upon  the  seat  of  consciousness. 
But  if  on  the  other  hand,  the  language  struck  him  as  im 
perfect,  his  mental  faculties  refused  to  operate.  He  abso 
lutely  would  not  try  to  comprehend  the  idea,  however 
beautiful  or  interesting,  unless  it  was  couched  in  a  phras 
ing  which  pleased  his  self  decreed  sense  of  language.  To 
him  the  current  and  often  apt  and  popular  American  slang 
was  an  abomination  and  a  sacrilege. 

Upon  one  occasion  John  Charles  had  asked  Standish 
from  what  college  or  institution  he  had  graduated,  for  in 
spite  of  the  young  miner's  crude  speech,  John  Charles 
detected  an  honest  and  interesting  flow  of  thought,  and 
graduation  from  a  school  of  some  sort  would  be  a  kind 
?of  twopenny  educational  salvation  for  the  delinquent  in 
the  young  attorney's  estimation.  But  when  Standish  had 
unblushingly  declared  that  he  had  only  attended  a  com 
mon  village  school  for  a  couple  of  terms,  the  young 
miner's  case  was  declared  hopeless;  and  John  Charles,  as 
a  systematic  and  scientific  lawyer,  made  the  following 
note  in  a  book  in  which  he  kept  a  record  of  prospective 
clients,  for  he  was  even  then  preparing  for  his  father  to 
step  down  and  out,  and  had  long  had  his  eyes  upon  the 
goodly  estate  of  the  Browns : 

"  Standish  Brown,  rough,  uneducated,  and  overgrown  miner. 
Has  some  knowledge  of  civil  engineering  and  assaying.  Evi 
dently  honest,  but  too  effusive  and  confiding  to  ever  make  a  suc 
cess  of  life." 

Immediately  beneath  this  notation  was  another  of  more 
recent  date,  probably  added  in  the  knowledge  that  his 
father's  near  retirement  would  undoubtedly  result  in 
Standish  accepting  the  services  of  John  Charles  Rose. 
The  additional  notation  was  as  follows: 

"Must  learn  to  tolerate  his  ignorance,  and  affect  good  fellow 
ship  in  his  presence." 

Now  it  might  be  interesting  to  the  reader  to  know  that 
this  same  John  Charles  had  kept  a  similar  notebook  when 
he  was  courting  his  wife.  For  in  keeping  with  his  in- 


220         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

variable  practice,  he  had  reduced  love-making  as  well  as 
law  to  an  exact  science. 

In  one  instance  however,  his  natural  feelings  had  so 
far  violated  his  sacred  "Code  d' Amour,"  that  he  had 
actually  embraced  his  lady  a  fraction  of  a  squeeze  tighter 
than  the  date  allowed.  As  it  was  only  the  sixty-fifth 
day  of  his  courting,  he  had  committed  the  awful  breach 
of  administering  to  her  the  tightness  of  embrace  which 
was  not  permitted  until  the  sixty-ninth  day  as  determined 
by  the  code.  Indeed,  so  embarrassed  was  he  upon  this 
occasion,  that  he  did  not  notice  the  extreme  joy  of  the 
young  lady  at  the  unexpected  fervor  of  his  embrace,  but 
rather,  he  bitterly  reproached  himself  in  the  thought  that 
he  had  violated  one  of  the  most  sacred  tenets  of  that 
elaborate  code  which  he  had  so  laboriously  compiled  from 
various  editions  of,  "How  to  Court  a  Woman,"  "When  to 
say  Yes,"  "The  Revised  Edition  of  Scientific  Love  Mak 
ing,"  and,  "Caught  in  Cupid's  Snare." 

However,  he  did  succeed  in  marrying  the  poor  creature, 
and  many  times  since  in  the  inner  history  of  their 
married  life,  the  fearful  oppression  of  the  exact,  systema 
tic,  just  so,  John  Charles,  has  nearly  driven  his  good  wife 
to  the  insane  asylum  and  the  rigors  of  a  straight-jacket. 

As  the  Colonel  called  his  son,  a  look  of  mingled  doubt 
and  annoyance  passed  over  Standish's  face,  which  in  the 
Colonel's  presence  he  tried  desperately  to  conceal. 

"Standish,"  said  the  Colonel,  as  John  Charles  stood 
before  them,  "I  believe  that  I  can  heartily  recommend 
my  son  John  to  your  services  in  lieu  of  mine,  for  he  has 
in  fact  taken  a  great  deal  of  the  detail  of  your  business 
off  my  hands  during  the  past  five  years  and  is  thoroly 
familiar  with  it." 

And  as  Standish  looked  up  at  the  Colonel's  kindly  face, 
he  felt  that  in  spite  of  his  deep  reluctance  to  accept  the 
services  of  John  Charles,  he  should  earnestly  consider  the 
recommendation  of  this  faithful  friend  of  both  his  father 
and  himself. 

"  I  guess  I  can  stand  this  cold-blooded  cuss  for  a  year," 
he  thought,  "but  by  the  eternal,  nothing  but  the  love  I 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         221 

bear  for  his  dear  old  father  would  make  me  tolerate  him 
for  an  instant." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  John  Charles,  taking  off  his 
glasses  and  wiping  them  importantly  as  he  spoke,"  I 
would  certainly  do  my  best  to  serve  your  interests,  in  case 
you  should  honor  me  with  the  custody  of  your  affairs  as 
you  have  done  with  my  father." 

It  was  difficult  for  Standish  to  speak  with  his  ac 
customed  cordiality,  but  he  managed  to  reply. 

"Very  well,  John,  I  will  be  pleased  to  accept  your  ser 
vices  for  the  ensuing  year,  and  unless  you  and  the  Colonel 
have  any  objections,  upon  the  same  terms  which  have 
applied  for  the  past  five  years." 

Standish  could  see  that  the  Colonel  was  greatly  pleased, 
and  he  himself  was  comforted  by  the  thought,  that  altho 
the  old  gentleman  had  proclaimed  his  retirement,  he 
would  nevertheless  be  a  sort  of  silent  guarantee  as  to  the 
reliability  of  the  son's  actions. 

That  John  Charles  was  certainly  disposed  to  gain  the 
good  graces  of  his  new  principal,  was  plainly  evident  by 
a  display  of  the  deepest  affectation  and  the  blandest  of 
smiles.  The  prospect  of  handling  a  large  estate  greatly 
delighted  him.  It  meant  income,  position,  power.  It 
meant  close  and  intimate  intercourse  with  Denver's  most 
substantial  citizens,  lawyers,  press  representatives,  bankers, 
corporation  directors,  etc.  And  in  the  pursuit  of  his  long 
fostered  political  ambitions,  he  proposed  to  follow  every 
thread  of  acquaintance  which  the  management  of  this 
large  estate  would  afford  him ;  and  bind  its  influence  and 
power  to  aid  him — Ah !  sweet  thought,  perhaps  to  congress 
itself. 

Thus  from  the  very  beginning,  John  Charles  carried 
out  to  the  letter,  the  base  hypocrisy  of  the  latest  paragraph 
in  his  notebook  concerning  Standish  Brown, 

"Must  learn  to  tolerate  his  ignorance  and  affect  good  fellow 
ship  in  his  presence." 

How  it  delighted  him  to  work  out  the  perfect  scheme 
of  his  system.  If  he  had  suddenly  been  deprived  of  this 
notebook  with  its  elaborate  compilations,  he  would  have 
been  as  hopelessly  lost  as  a  fish  a  mile  from  water.  Every 


222        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

case  in  law  had  its  file,  every  action  its  number,  which 
was  well  and  customary  with  every  up  to  date  disciple 
of  Blackstone ;  but  in  his  case,  the  same  iron  bound  system 
permeated  every  action  of  his  life.  Yea,  even  the  kiss 
which  he  gave  his  wife  so  monotonously  methodical  just 
before  breakfast,  was  kiss  number  so  and  so  on  the  card 
index ;  representing  to  him  a  precious  unit  of  force  labor 
iously  acquired,  and  spent  thus  lavishly,  with  often  the 
added  expenditure  of  a  deep  regretful  sigh  at  the  thought 
of  it. 

He  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  his  wife  might 
become  a  mother  and  bear  him  a  child.  It  would  add 
too  much  to  the  already  great  complexity  of  his  system. 
Indeed,  he  was  not  prepared  with  his  ever  increasing  busi 
ness  to  compile  a  code  by  which  to  rear  a  child.  The  very 
thought  of  it  terrified  him.  Think  of  it!  The  compila 
tion  of  a  "Code  d'Rearing  Of  Ye  Child,  The  Secret  Of 
Whose  Sex  Ye  Stork  Has  Not  Informed  Ye  Prospective 
Parent."  Horrors!  The  terrible  event  would  require  a 
double  code.  For  altho  he  had  reduced  almost  everything 
else  to  a  system,  he  could  not  as  yet  forecast  nature,  and 
determine  whether  the  stork  would  deliver  a  boy  or  a 
girl,  or  perhaps  both. 

So  as  John  Charles  bowed,  smiled,  and  played  his  part 
with  excellent  skill  as  he  talked  over  a  few  items  with 
his  new  principal,  the  sensitive  doubting  soul  of  Standish 
shrank  from  the  affectation  and  hypocrisy  of  the  creature, 
and  he  prepared  himself  for  that  inevitable  denoument 
which  he  felt  was  merely  a  matter  of  time. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  few  hundred  feet  from  the  banks  of  the  South  Platte 
river,  and  within  the  boundaries  of  the  city  of  Denver, 
rises  an  enormous  smokestack. 

It  is  one  of  the  tallest  chimneys  in  the  world. 

It  is  the  sulphur-fumed,  poison-spouting  mouth  of  a 
mile  or  more  of  brick  and  steel  flues,  so  large  that  a 
coach  and  four  with  the  driver  seated  on  top,  could  be 
driven  the  entire  length,  and  then  be  lifted  up  bodily 
thru  the  huge  diameter  of  the  chimney  itself. 

Within  the  cavernous  soot-reeking  recesses  of  these 
gigantic  flues  and  this  towering  stack,  a  process  of  money 
making  is  going  on  that  is  astounding;  for  by  straining, 
sifting,  dampening,  and  manipulating  the  smoke  and 
vapor  which  passes  thru  this  bewildering  maze  of  flue  and 
pipe,  gold — precious  gold  is  extracted,  and  prevented  from 
passing  out  at  the  mouth  of  the  huge  stack  in  the  form 
of  smoke  and  vapor. 

Years  of  patient  tests  and  experiment  have  taught  the 
smelterman,  that  many  thousands  of  dollars  worth  of 
precious  gold  passes  away  from  the  smelting  furnaces  in 
the  form  of  vapor,  unless  preventive  steps  are  taken. 
Hence  this  wilderness — almost  miles  of  smoke  straining, 
gold  extracting  pipe  and  flue,  culminating  in  this  lofty 
sky-scraping  smokestack. 

This  colossal  chimney  is  three  hundred  and  fifty-five 
feet  high,  and  with  the  single  exception  of  the  State 
Capitol  building,  is  the  most  prominent  point  in  Denver. 
Formerly  this  stack  was  the  pride  and  wonder  object  of 
the  Missouri  and  Colorado  Smelting  Co.,  which  corpora 
tion  having  later  been  fed  into  the  maw  of  the  Smelter 
Trust,  was  now  extinct;  and  its  former  plant  was  now 
known  merely  as  "Plant  B,"  of  that  giant  smelter  corpora 
tion  which  owns  and  operates  dozens  of  smelting  plants, 

223 


224        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

all  of  greater  or  less  capacity  than  the  one  thus  situated 
on  the  banks  of  the  peaceful  Platte. 

A  Smelter.* 

A  thing  which  feasts  upon  the  rich  ore  of  the  Great 
Hills.  A  vast  fiery  throat,  to  feed  which  the  miner  is 
pulling  down  the  mountains. 

What  will  man  not  attempt  under  the  spell  of  a  mighty 
passion,  and  that  passion — GOLD ! 

The  Mountains! 

The  Pillars  of  the  World! 

Yet  the  brawny  miner  pulls  them  down  remorselessly, 
to  crowd  and  glut  the  smoking  jaws  of  that  fiery  dragon — 
the  SMELTER! 

The  miner  digs  the  crude  raw  ores  from  the  mountains. 

The  smelterman  extracts  the  various  metals  and  by 
products  from  those  ores. 

Thus  their  work  is  entirely  different. 

One  drills,  blasts,  and  burrows  in  a  damp  dark  hole. 

The  other,  steams  and  sweats  as  he  plies  and  thrusts 
long  rods  and  shovels  into  a  vast  fiery  pot. 

A  smelter  is,  A  POT  THAT  BOILS  A  MOUNTAIN! 

During  the  long  years  that  followed  his  departure  from 
Plume,  Theodore  Dodge  had  gradually  ceased  to  be  a 
miner.  Immediately  following  their  first  success  in  min 
ing  in  the  properties  of  the  Sampson-Smith,  Thomas 
Bayard  and  his  young  associate  had  given  that  precarious 
business  a  very  careful  investigation,  in  order  that  they 
might  become  masters  of  the  handling  and  marketing  of 

•NOTE. — Jerome  C.  Smiley,  who  wrote  an  elaborate  history  of 
Denver,  has  this  to  say  regarding  the  difficulty  of  describing  a 
smelter:  "The  present  advanced  stage  of  this  advancing  art  of 
arts  is  the  result  of  years  of  scientific  study  and  experiment, 
therefore,  the  writer  confesses  that  an  undertaking  on  his  part 
to  convey  to  other  laymen  an  intelligible  description  or  outline 
of  the  varied  processes,  would  be  too  much  like  the  blind  trying 
to  lead  the  blind  for  the  attempt  to  find  justification." 

Altho  Mr.  Smiley  has  in  the  above  statement  placed  a  severe 
handicap  upon  the  possibility  of  a  lay  writer  successfully  con 
veying  to  his  reader  an  anywhere  near  comprehensible  idea  of  a 
smelter,  yet  the  smelting  business,  next  to  mining,  is  so  promi 
nently  and  distinctly  Colorado's  most  wonderful  industry;  and  is 
indeed,  as  Mr.  Smiley  well  implies,  one  of  the  most  wonderful  of 
arts,  that  the  author  trusts  that  if  he  has  made  a  failure  of  con 
veying  at  least  a  general  idea  of  a  smelter  to  his  reader,  he  has 
failed  in  a  good  cause,  and  one  worthy  the  hand  of  a  master. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

the  precious  white  and  yellow  products  of  the  Great  HilLj. 

They  soon  arrived  at  one  hard  indisputable  fact,  viz., 

That  the  smelterman  is  the  one  party  who  actually 
controls  the  ore  products  of  the  Great  Hills. 

To  be  merely  a  miner,  even  a  mine  owner,  is  to  be 
more  or  less  the  slave  of  the  smelterman. 

Comparatively  speaking,  to  be  a  smelter  magnate,  is 
to  be  a  Prince. 

And  to  be  the  head  of  a  Smelter  Trust  or  combination, 
is  to  be  an  absolute  CZAR. 

The  smelterman  is  to  the  mining  industry,  what  the 
refiner  is  to  the  oil  business. 

In  him  rests  absolute  supremacy. 

He  is  the  great  X.  X.  X. 

The  royal  IT ! 

The  secret  of  this  is,  that  the  smelterman  is  the  only 
party  who  offers  the  miner  a  market  for  his  ore,  therefore 
the  miner  must  necessarily  submit  to  his  terms.  If  the 
smelterman  chooses  to  drive  a  hard  bargain,  what  can  the 
miner  do  ?  Nothing,  but  accept  the  terms  however  onerous 
they  may  be.  Of  course  there  are  exceptions  to  this  rule, 
but  to  the  great  majority,  the  small  hand-to-mouth  pro 
ducers,  it  is  absolutely  true. 

It  costs  a  large  amount  of  money  to  build  and  equip 
a  smelter.  Considerable  more  than  the  combined  value 
of  several  good  mines.  Then  in  addition  to  the  large 
capital  invested,  it  requires  genius  and  knowledge  of 
many  valuable  trade  secrets  to  operate  it  successfully. 

In  fact  it  is  one  vast  labyrinthal  laboratory,  in  which 
almost  every  process  is  more  or  less  an  experiment,  even 
the  most  regular  requiring  eternal  vigilance. 

Perhaps  one  particular  ore  has  been  subjected  to  hun 
dreds  of  tests  in  order  to  overcome  its  refractoriness. 
Smelting  processes  often  represent  the  com'bined  efforts 
and  patient  tests  and  experiments  of  generations  of 
chemists. 

Then  after  the  art  has  been  mastered  and  the  product 
brought  forth,  there  is  the  great  question  of  market,  for 
gold  is  perhaps  the  only  metal  of  the  many  metals, 
minerals,  and  by-products  produced  from  the  ores,  which 


226        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

by  reason  of  its  unit  of  value,  can  command  a  steady 
market  and  thus  be  in  demand  at  all  times.  To  dispose 
of  the  balance  of  the  product,  which  is  many  times  in' 
excess  of  the  gold  produced,  requires  a  world-wide  organi 
zation.  So  in  the  face  of  all  these  obstacles  and  endless 
details,  the  miner  is  at  the  mercy,  to  a  great  extent,  of  the 
smelterman. 

One  day  Thomas  Bayard  said  to  Theodore  Dodge, 

"You  learn  the  smelting  business,  Theo,  and  I'll  raise 
the  capital  to  build  and  operate  a  first-class  plant." 

Dodge  agreed,  and  both  men  kept  their  word,  but  it 
was  not  until  after  several  years  of  ceaseless  toil  and  ex 
periment  that  their  united  efforts  resulted  in  the  con 
struction  and  operation  of  "Plant  B." 

Let  us  go  thru  this  plant. 

First,  to  the  assay  office,  for  it  is  the  key  to  the  entire 
plant,  and  for  the  following  reasons : 

At  the  various  mining  centers  and  camps  of  Colorado 
the  smelters  employ  purchasers  of  ore. 

For  instance,  a  mine  operator  has  turned  out  a  ship 
ment  of  ore  and  wants  to  sell.  Both  the  smelter's  repre 
sentative  and  the  mine  operator  take  a  sample  of  the  ore 
and  have  it  assayed.  If  they  agree  upon  the  assay  value, 
the  ore  is  then  purchased  by  the  smelter  at  this  value 
less  the  transportation  charges  on  the  shipment  from  the 
mine  to  the  smelting  plant,  and  also  nominal  charges 
for  the  treatment  of  the  ore  by  the  smelter. 

If  they  cannot  agree  upon  the  value  of  the  ore  from 
their  own  assays,  they  select  a  third  party,  or  referee,  who 
also  makes  an  assay;  and  generally  both  parties  abide  by 
his  decision  if  it  does  not  differ  too  much  from  their  own 
figures. 

After  the  ore — say  a  carload — is  purchased  iii  this  man 
ner,  it  eventually  reaches  the  smelter,  and,  together  with 
scores  of  other  cars  of  ore  and  material  it  is  switched  upon 
one  of  the  plant's  many  yard  tracks. 

Samples  of  the  ore  in  this  car  are  then  taken  to  the 
smelter's  local  assay  office  and  assayed,  the  result  being 
carefully  compared  with  the  original  assays  made  at  the 
time  of  purchase.  This  final  assay  is  also  so  conducted 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        227 

that  it  not  only  checks  the  correctness  of  the  purchase 
price,  but  also  determines  the  character  of  the  ore,  and  in 
what  manner  it  is  to  be  treated  in  order  to  economically 
and  successfully  extract  the  precious  metals  and  minerals 
•which  it  contains. 

This  assay  test  consists  of  pulverizing  a  small  sample  of 
the  ore  to  a  powder  somewhat  finer  than  fine  sand.  This 
dust  is  then  placed  in  a  small  earthen  pot  or  crucible, 
which  is  put  in  a  furnace  and  the  temperature  raised  to  a 
high  degree.  The  metals  contained  in  the  dust  melt  and 
form  a  small  button  in  the  bottom  of  the  crucible,  the 
refuse  and  ashes,  being  lighter  than  the  metals,  rise  to  the 
surface.  The  crucible  is  then  removed  from  the  fur 
nace,  the  refuse  is  knocked  off,  leaving  the  metal  button 
intact. 

This  button,  which  contains  all  of  the  metals  of  the 
ore  alloyed  together,  is  then  treated  in  various  ways  in 
order  to  determine  exactly  how  much  gold,  silver,  copper, 
lead,  zinc,  etc.,  is  contained  in  the  sample. 

The  assaying  process  and  test  is  almost  perfect,  is,  in 
fact,  an  exact  science.  And  upon  its  decree  thousands  of 
tons  and  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  carloads  of  ore  are 
purchased  and  smelted  with  absolute  confidence.  Tho 
it  is  comparatively  easy  to  determine  the  values  in  the 
ore,  yet  to  determine  the  best  manner  of  treating  the  ore 
in  the  smelter  itself,  is  often  the  subject  of  an  interminable 
number  of  tests  and  experiments ;  for  ore  not  only  differs 
according  to  the  mining  district  in  general  in  which  it 
is  mined,  but  it  often  varies  in  each  individual  mine  of 
the  same  district,  and  also  in  different  localities  of  the 
same  mine. 

Thus,  one  lot  of  ore  may  require  a  certain  roasting 
process  in  order  to  eliminate  the  sulphur  with  which  it  is 
heavily  impregnated,  and  which  must  be  removed  from 
the  ore  before  it  can  safely  be  put  in  the  blast  furnace; 
while  another  lot  may  require  melting  by  itself  and  a 
•certain  refractoriness  removed  before  it  is  of  the  required 
consistency  and  texture  to  be  handled  by  the  blast.  Still 
another  lot  may  require  crushing  to  the  fineness  of  sand  or 
gravel  in  order  to  be  properly  prepared  for  the  blast,  or 


228        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

another  may  be  treated  in  tanks  of  chemicals  for  some 
object  unknown  to  the  layman.  Thus  in  many  ways 
the  various  ores  are  treated  in  order  to  prepare  them  for 
final  reduction,  arid  every  process  is  the  result  of  the  rigid 
experiments  of  the  assay  office. 

Having  investigated  the  supreme  function  of  the  as- 
sayer,  the  next  step  is  to  the  great  furnace  room  of  the 
smelter  itself.  From  observing  the  ore  treated  as  mere 
handfuls  of  dust  in  a  tiny  crucible  the  size  of  a  small  tea 
cup,  now  its  treatment  is  in  quantities  of  hundreds  of  tons 
as  it  is  fed  into  the  blast  furnaces. 

See,  here  are  huge  stacks  of  the  rich  ore  of  the  Great 
Hills,  of  which  some,  perhaps,  has  run  red  with  the  life- 
blood  of  the  miner.  Here  in  this  mound,  blasted  from 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  are  ores  from  old  Mexico,  Ari 
zona,  Chili,  Peru,  Nevada,  Utah,  British  Columbia,  Idaho, 
Alaska,  New  Mexico,  Wyoming,  and  from  dozens  of  the 
nearby  mining  districts  of  Colorado;  each  and  every  one 
of  them  different  from  the  other  to  a  greater  or  less  de 
gree,  and  every  one  the  mute  witness  of  the  appalling 
metamorphosis  of  the  smoking  mountains  of  prehistoric 
ages. 

Eventually,  finally,  all  these  various  ores,  gathered 
from  perhaps  a  hundred  different  sources,  find  their  way 
to  the  great  mixing  floor  of  the  furnace  room,  the  floor 
itself  taking  up  the  entire  ground  area  of  a  large  edifice 
of  brick,  stone  and  steel ;  and  is  placed  upon  a  level  with 
the  mouths  of  several  huge  blast  furnaces,  which  roar  and 
scream  like  so  many  maddened  dragons  in  the  terrible 
play  of  Vulcan's  flaming  fires. 

'  As  the  dark  forms  of  the  sweating  workmen,  with  the 
aid  of  a  system  of  massive  iron  weights,  swing  open  the 
huge  steel  doors  of  the  furnaces,  and  empty  the  contents 
of  many  wheelbarrows  into  the  sulphurous  depths  below, 
the  imprisoned  hell  fires  leap  out  and  coil  up,  like  vast 
writhing  reptiles  whose  bodies  are  black  smoke  and  whose 
tongues  red  flame. 

FLUX! 

This  is  the  great  cry  of  the  smelterman. 

Flux  —  eternally  flux ! 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        229 

By  this  term  is  meant  the  substance  or  mixture  used  to 
promote  and  insure  the  fusion  of  the  metals  and  minerals 
\yholly  free  from  the  slag  or  waste  matter. 

It  must  be  so  perfect  as  to  gather  and  run  every  parti 
cle  of  the  precious  metals  and  minerals  into  one  perfect 
molten  mass  separate  from  and  wholly  unmixed  with  the 
slag.  While  in  addition  to  this,  it  must  be  so  constituted  as 
to  keep  the  furnaces  clean  and  unclogged;  and  so  per 
fect  has  this  process  become,  that  furnaces  are  kept  burn 
ing  for  years  at  a  time  without  once  allowing  their  fires 
to  go  out. 

Thus  every  faculty  and  best  endeavor  of  the  smelter- 
man  is  concentrated  upon  the  proper  mixing  of  the  flux 
ing  substance  and  the  balance  of  the  contents  of  these 
blast  furnaces,  which  united  effort  is  summed  up  in  that 
magic  word — flux! 

As  conclusive  evidence  of  this  master  effort  of  the 
smelterman,  note  the  mathematical  exactness  with  which 
one  of  these  flaming  monsters  is  fed. 

At  one  end  of  the  furnace  room  is  a  huge  pile  of  ore. 
It  contains  perhaps  a  hundred  carloads  of  different  kinds, 
carefully  deposited  in  layers,  one  upon  the  other  like 
a  huge  layer  cake,  done  by  dozens  of  men  wheeling  them 
in  barrows  from  the  railroad  cars  outside.  And  at  this 
opportune  time,  the  different  layers  of  ore,  show  the 
marvel  of  Nature's  wonderful  pigments  and  dyes.  Here 
a  few  inches  of  salmon  pink,  there  a  foot  of  deep  yel 
low  chrome.  Here  a  streak  of  raven  black,  there  a 
splash  of  dull  brown.  Here  several  inches  of  bright  scar 
let,  there  a  pinch  of  indigo.  Next  a  wide  ribbon  of  steel 
gray  edged  with  deep  purple,  and  so  on  up  to  the  full 
height  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  one  notes  layer  after  layer 
of  glorious  soft  pastel  colors,  the  rich  and  varicolored  offal 
of  the  Great  Hills. 

Here  comes  a  barrow  man  for  a  load.  As  he  shovels 
the  ore  into  the  barrow,  the  different  layers  fall  down, 
mixing  with  automatic  perfection.  Yet  this  is  only  a 
mere  part  of  the  elaborate  mixing  process  necessary  to  a 
successful  flux. 

After  filling  the  barrow,  the  laborer  then 'wheels  his 


230         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

load  to  the  edge  of  the  furnace  floor,  resting  it  for  a 
moment  upon  the  platform  of  a  set  of  scales  placed  in 
and  upon  a  level  with  the  floor.  If  the  scale  needle 
points  to  the  required  weight  as  set  by  the  foreman  under 
the  direction  of  the  assayer,  he  goes  on  to  the  furnace  and 
dumps  his  load  upon  a  steel  platform.  If  not,  he  thrusts 
a  shovel  into  the  contents  of  the  barrow  and  throws 
off  enough  to  make  the  correct  weight,  or  adds  from  a 
nearby  pile  if  his  load  is  too  light. 

He  is  followed  by  another  man  with  a  barrow  of 
limestone,  then  another  follows  with  a  load  of  ore  that 
has  been  previously  roasted  or  otherwise  specially  treated, 
and  still  others  follow,  ad  infinitum,  with  barrows  of 
various  other  ingredients  necessary  to  make  up  the  re 
quired  charge.  And  all  of  these  different  barrow  loads 
having  being  carefully  weighed,  are  dumped  upon  the 
same  steel  platform  at  a  level  with  the  mouth  of  the  fur 
nace. 

At  one  side  of  the  furnace  door  is  an  iron  track  over 
which  are  constantly  moving  small  steel  cars  filled  with 
coke,  and  which  dump  their  contents  upon  the  same 
platform  with  unvarying  regularity. 

Suddenly  a  dark  form  opens  the  door  of  one  of  the 
furnaces,  and  amid  the  angry  roar  of  the  blast  and  the 
lurid  glare  of  the  flames,  the  dark  figure  which  is  now 
shadowed  as  a  giant  upon  the  ceiling  by  the  leaping  red 
flames,  shovels  in  the  ore,  the  coke,  the  limestone,  and 
the  balance  of  the  charge  in  exact  proportions. 

In  this  manner  these  huge  furnaces  are  fed  at  the 
top  every  few  moments  with  full  charges,  while  within 
them  is  directed  a  fierce  blast  of  air  driven  by  a  pow 
erful  plant  of  machinery.  This  terrific  draught  of  air, 
driven  furiously  upon  the  flaming  masses  of  coke,  lime 
stone,  etc.,  subjects  the  ores  to  a  heat  so  terrible,  that  they 
are  soon  compelled  to  release  their  precious  hoards,  which 
discharge  themselves  in  a  molten  mass  in  a  deep  recep 
tacle  at  the  bottom  of  the  furnace  fifteen  or  twenty  feet 
below. 

At  this  point  are  other  figures  sweating  in  the  flames — 
which  have  now  taken  on  deep  yellow  and  electric  green 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        231 

hues  from  the  different  chemicals  in  the  roasting  ores— 
and  who  are  drawing  from  the  lower  or  bottom  end 
of  the  furnaces,  the  molten  product  which  has  been  fed 
to  the  flames  far  above  in  the  form  of  apparently  cold 
and  lifeless  matter. 

This  sweating,  steaming  brood  of  Vulcan  is  engaged 
in  running  fiery  liquids  into  various  pots  and  moulds. 
The  waste  matter  or  slag  running  out  of  one  vent,  and  the 
precious  metals  themselves,  bubbling  up  at  another  vent 
beneath,  for  the  metal  being  heavier  than  the  slag,  sinks 
below  it,  and  is  extracted  from  time  to  time  at  a  vent  in 
the  side  of  the  furnace  and  poured  into  moulds. 

The  men  who  feed  the  furnaces  above  do  not  see  their 
brothers  who  handle  the  slag  and  molten  metal  below, 
being  separated  from  them  by  the  thick  floor  of  the 
furnace  room,  and  they  ply  their  labors  entirely  obli 
vious  of  each  other. 

A  long  flight  of  stairs  decends  to  this  lower  region,  and 
lands  upon  the  wide  pavement  of  the  slag  and  matte 
area,  "matte"  being  the  term  applied  to  the  metal  as  it 
runs  molten  from  the  furnaces  and  is  poured  into  the 
moulds  and  cooled.  The  floor  of  the  furnace  room 
above  forms  the  ceiling  of  this  lower  region  for  a  few 
feet  directly  over  the  furnaces,  the  balance  of  the  area 
being  wholly  open  to  the  sky,  and  the  whole  area  de 
voted  to  the  handling  of  the  fiery  product  of  the  furnaces. 

At  regular  intervals  the  wad  of  clay  which  closes 
the  slag  vent  is  dexterously  removed  by  the  point  of 
a  long  rod  wielded  by  the  foreman,  and  instantly  a 
scarlet,  angrily  hissing,  sulphurous  flame  leaps  forth, 
followed  by  a  fiery,  spark-emitting  flood  of  slag,  which 
flows  with  a  sharp  rattling  hiss  into  a  large  steel  pot 
trunioned  upon  a  low  two-wheeled  iron  truck.  "When 
this  pot  is  nearly  filled,  the  foreman  stops  the  slas: 
vent  with  a  fresh  wad  of  wet  clay  placed  upon  the  end 
of  another  but  differently  shaped  rod.  While  he  is  en 
gaged  in  tamping  the  vent  to  his  satisfaction,  his  as 
sistant  wheels  away  the  pot  of  boiling  slag,  and  tips  it 
into  an  enormous  vat  called  the  "settler."  This  vat 
is  sunk  deep  into  a  metal  pit  in  the  pavement,  bringing 


232         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

the  mouth  of  the  settler  upon  a  level  with  the  floor.  Other 
men  wheeling  other  slag  pots  come  to  the  edge  of  this 
vat,  and  likewise  empty  their  burden  of  this  flaming 
molten  juice  of  the  mountains  into  the  gaping  maw 
of  the  settler. 

Presently  when  the  great  vat  is  filled,  a  huge  travel 
ing  crane  lifts  it  high  in  the  air,  suspending  it  up 
right  over  a  slightly  smaller  vat,  which  is  fastened  upon 
a  car  resting  upon  a  small  track.  Then  a  workman 
wielding  a  long  rod  suddenly  knocks  off  the  lump  of 
clay  which  closes  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  settler,  and 
thru  which  vent  the  greater  portion  of  its  fiery  contents 
are  drained  into  the  pot  upon  the  car,  which  was  cast 
to  hold  exactly  that  amount. 

The  car  is  then  hauled  away  by  a  diminutive  locomo 
tive  and  soon  its  contents  are  dumped  over  the  slag 
pile  at  the  end  of  the  track,  where  the  fiery  flood  goes 
roaring  and  hissing  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Platte, 
rolling  up  a  great  sheet  of  smoke  and  flame. 

One  day  at  this  same  Plant  B,  a  high  wind  drove  the 
sulphurous  fumes  of  the  molten  rock  suddenly  upward 
into  the  face  of  the  engine  driver,  who,  overcome 
by  the  poisonous  gases,  pitched  forward  into  the  fearful 
flood  of  fire  to  a  terrible  death.  The  only  trace  that  was 
ever  found  of  him  after  the  slag  cooled  sufficiently  to 
permit  an  examination,  was  a  charred  trunk,  a  few 
metal  buttons,  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  the  steel  blades  of 
his  pocket  knife. 

Now  the  huge  vat  or  settler  which  was  drained  of  the 
main  portion  of  its  contents,  still  contains  quite  a 
quantity  in  its  sulphurous  depths;  and  is  again  carried 
on  by  the  crane  to  be  suspended  over  a  smaller  pot  also 
placed  on  wheels.  It  is  then  tapped  of  the  remainder 
of  its  contents  at  another  vent  considerably  lower  than 
where  it  was  tapped  before. 

This  time  however,  the  molten  matter  emits  a  green 
ish  yellowish  flame  instead  of  the  intense  scarlet  gleam 
of  the  former  tap.  This  is  because  there  is  a  small  quan 
tity  of  the  precious  metal  itself  contained  in  this  tap, 
and  which  also  explains  why  it  is  thus  drawn  off,  and 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        233 

also  why  the  huge  suspended  vat  from  which  it  is  drawn 
is  called  the  "settler."  For  the  small  amount  of  metal 
which  has  come  from  the  furnace  mixed  with  the  slag, 
and  which  is  much  heavier  than  the  slag,  has  settled 
to  the  bottom  of  the  vat,  and  is  thus  drawn  off  and  saved. 

The  object  of  the  smelterman  is,  not  to  lose  the  small 
est  fraction  of  the  precious  metal  if  it  can  by  any  means 
be  avoided.  Having  exercised  such  scrupulous  care  thru- 
out  the  balance  of  the  smelting  process  he  does  not  pro 
pose  to  lose  a  single  cent  in  this  last  act  of  drawing  off 
the  slag.  The  pot  which  was  filled  with  its  valuable 
charge  from  the  bottom  of  the  settler,  is  next  wheeled 
put  upon  a  platform  for  its  contents  to  cool,  after  which 
it  is  dumped,  the  charge  broken  up  by  skdge-hammers, 
and  then  carted  or  trammed  up  to  the  furnace  room  to 
again  go  thru  the  blast. 

After  the  settler  has  been  emptied  of  its  contents, 
it  is  carried  still  further  on  by  the  crane  and  turned 
upside  down,  while  workmen  insert  rods  and  break  up 
the  shallow  crust  which  has  formed  on  the  inside  next 
the  sides ;.  when  it  is  thus  cleaned,  it  is  then  carried  back 
to  its  receptacle  to  receive  another  fiery  charge,  its  twin 
mate  having  been  filled  in  the  meantime  to  undergo 
the  same  operation. 

The  metal  itself,  a  white  silvery  fluid,  almost  entirely 
free  from  the  slag,  is  dipped  by  an  attendant  with  a 
ladle,  from  a  vent  in  the  side  of  the  furnace  and  poured 
into  a  series  of  steel  moulds  set  upon  a  low  bench,  and 
which  are  about  the  size  of  a  five-pound  brick  of  cheese. 

To  the  rear  of  the  furnace,  next  to  the  wall  of  one  of 
the  great  flues,  is  a  tiny  track  upon  which  travels  a  low 
wheeled  car  pushed  by  a  stout  workman,  who,  stopping 
the  car  at  the  furnace,  knocks  the  bars  smoking  hot 
out  of  the  moulds  and  loads  them  upon  the  platform  of 
the  car. 

From  furnace  to  furnace  the  car  is  filled  with  the  oars, 
and  finally  pushed  to  a  low  frame  barn  of  a  structure  built 
farther  out  upon  the  slag  area  and  over  a  gigantic  kettle. 
This  kettle  is  partially  filled  with  the  bars,  which  being 
remelted  here,  form  the  same  kind  of  molten  metal 


234        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

as  was  previously  ladled  from  the  furnaces,  and  the  bare 
are  all  remelted  here  in  this  monster  kettle,  in  order 
to  remove  the  impurities  and  slag  which  have  slightly 
mixed  with  the  metal  in  its  original  passage  thru  the 
blast  furnace. 

A  few  feet  below  a  workman  is  shoveling  coal  upon 
a  fierce  fire  burning  beneath  the  kettle.  Closing  the 
fire  door  he  ascends  a  short  flight  of  stairs,  and  both 
he  and  the  workman  who  gathered  the  bars  at  the  fur 
naces,  remove  the  bars  from  the  car  and  slide  them  one 
at  a  time  over  the  edge  and  into  the  kettle.  Such  is  the 
dense  specific  gravity  of  the  molten  sea,  that  the  bars 
do  not  drop  with  a  splash,  but  slide  slowly  down  the 
side  of  the  kettle  and  disappear  beneath  the  surface  of 
the  cyclopean  stew  with  a  dull  metallic  chug. 

Oh,  that  it  were  possible  to  adequately  describe  the  mag 
nificent  display  of  color  showing  in  the  scum  and  crust 
of  this  vast  soup  bowl  of  melted  mountains. 

Above,  in  the  furnace  room,  the  layers  of  crude  ores 
possessed  the  soft  pastel  colors.  But  in  the  scum  and 
surface  of  this  great  kettle,  are  the  most  wondrous  daubs 
and  streaks  of  every  imaginable  color  under  the  sun, 
and  all  of  which  are  now  flowed  in  as  with  rich  heavy 
oils. 

Glittering  and  shimmering  upon  the  surface  of  this 
fearful  pottage  of  the  Great  Hills,  is  the  color  essence 
of  countless  sunsets,  of  eons  of  matchless  sunrises;  and 
the  celestial  hues  of  every  cloud  since  the  dawn  of  cre 
ation,  are  here  reproduced  in  every  conceivable  shade 
and  combination. 

As  the  attendant  dips  his  huge  steel  skimming  ladle 
into  this  steaming  brew,  one  can  almost  believe,  as  the 
gorgeous  scum  ripples  in  its  stiff  metallic  flow,  that  all 
the  colors  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars;  and  the  cloud 
color  play  and  revel  of  the  world,  yea,  of  the  universe 
itself,  have  been  absorbed  by  these  wonderful  ores,  and 
here  coaxed  out  again  in  molten  nakedness  by  the  sooty 
brood  of  Vulcan,  to  delight  the  eye  of  man. 

Ah  I    Nature! 

Thou  matchless,  incomparable  color-monger. 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE        235 

Here  them  showest  the  pale  azure  draperies  of  rosy 
dawn.  The  deep  scarlet  waistcoat  of  the  setting  sun. 
The  purple  robes  of  evening. 

If  an  artist  should  behold  this  wonderful  sight  un 
warned,  he  would  faint  in  a  convulsion  of  delight. 

At  the  sight  of  this  unspeakable  combination  of  color, 
a  man  throws  himself  prostrate  at  the  feet  of  God; 
a  woman  with  an  artist's  eye  for  color  trembles  as  at  the 
birth  of  a  son.  The  entranced  vision  seems  to  stretch  as 
a  flash  of  light  from  the  virgin  world  emerging  misty  and 
bridal-veiled  from  Chaos,  to  the  last  Judgment;  with 
the  world  and  its  sins  bursting  into  flames  at  the  com 
mand  of  an  avenging  and  destroying  God. 

For  one  moment  you  are  poised  on  the  brink  of  heaven, 
scanning  the  secrets  of  creation  as  an  open  book;  the 
next,  you  are  shutting  out  the  forbidden  spectacle  with 
sweat-dripping  fingers  shielding  blinded  folly-cursed 
eyes,  and  moaning  in  the  despairing  agony  of  mere 
mortal  flesh.  From  a  spirit  you  have  become  a  clod. 

But  to  return.  Gradually  as  the  great  kettle  is  filled 
with  the  bars  from  the  constant  stream  of  cars  which 
keep  coming  with  undiminished  supply,  its  huge  belly, 
which  holds  hundreds  of  the  bars,  threatens  to  spill 
over  the  sides;  at  which  spectacle  the  attendant  sounds 
a  whistle  of  warning,  and  several  workmen  come  run 
ning  to  assist  him.  Seizing  several  large  iron  ladles,  or 
skimmers,  which  are  perforated  with  holes  half  an  inch 
in  diameter,  they  proceed  to  skim  off  the  heavy  scum 
much  as  one  skims  cream  from  a  pan  of  milk,  and  load 
it  into  a  waiting  cart  to  be  carried  up  to  the  furnace 
room  to  again  go  thru  the  blast.  This  item  being  but 
another  evidence  of  the  wonderful  economv  of  the  smel- 
terman.  In  course  of  time,  this  very  building,  yea,  the 
very  floor  beneath  the  workmen's  feet,  will  be  put  into 
the  blast  furnace,  to  deliver  into  the  smelter  magnate's 
coffers  the  precious  soots  and  grains  of  gold  and  silver 
which  have  been  absorbed  an$  sifted  into  its  cracks  and 
pores. 

The  scum  is  very  heavy.  The  workmen  steam  and  sweat 
prodigiously  from  their  exertions.  Even  the  tiniest  piece 


236        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  this  metallic  crust  falls  with  a  heavy  thud,  indicating 
its  enormous  weight  and  density. 

Presently,  with  the  gorgeous  scum  removed,  a  perfectly 
lustrous  beautiful  pool  of  shining  silver  is  revealed,  which, 
absolutely  flawless,  shines  as  a  burnished  silvery  moon, 
without  a  speck  upon  its  dazzling  surface  to  mar  the  su 
perb  effect. 

A  steel  syphon  is  then  inserted  in  the  silver  flood,  the 
heavy  metal  pipe  of  which  floating  as  lightly  upon  the 
heavier  liquid  metal  as  a  piece  of  cork  upon  a  pond. 
The  molten  brew  is  then  run  off  thru  the  syphon  into 
small  steel  moulds.  The  bars  cool  in  a  few  moments 
sufficient  to  permit  handling  with  thick  gloves,  and  are 
then  loaded  by  the  workmen  as  so  many  common  brick, 
into  the  railroad  freight  cars  standing  upon  a  nearby 
siding. 

From  two  to  four  of  these  cars  are  shipped  daily  from 
Plant  B  to  a  point  on  the  Missouri  river,  at  which  point 
is  located  one  of  the  great  refining  plants  of  the  American 
Smelter  Co. 

Here  the  bars  go  thru  an  elaborate  refining  and  sep 
arating  process,  whereby  the  lead,  copper,  gold,  silver, 
zinc,  and  all  the  other  numerous  metals,  minerals,  and 
by-products  which  are  contained  in  them,  are  separated 
into  their  individual  quantities  and  units;  after  which 
final  process  of  the  great  art  of  metallurgy,  the  various 
products  are  placed  upon  the  markets  of  the  world  thru 
the  different  selling  agencies  of  the  corporation,  which 
branch  of  the  business  alone  employs  a  large  army  of  ex 
perts,  and  which  calls  for  the  closest  study  of  the  whole 
world's  markets,  and  the  ability  and  capital  to  manipulate 
and  meet  the  market  from  China  to  England,  involving 
the  mints  and  metal  markets  of  every  nation  on  the  globe. 

Day  and  night,  month  after  month,  year  after  year, 
the  huge  furnaces  of  Plant  B  are  kept  fed  and  burning, 
for  this  devouring  battery  of  mountain  melters  has  never 
yet  quit  its  fires. 

The  fiery  juice  of  the  Great  Hills  never  ceases  its  flow, 
and  the  red  slag  goes  unceasingly  over  the  dump,  de 
vastating  and  crusting  over  large  tracts  of  land  pur- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        237 

chased  for  that  purpose  by  the  smelting  management; 
to  later,  perhaps  many  years  from  now,  swell  the  coffers 
of  the  Trust  by  being  sold  as  ballast  and  road  material  to 
the  different  railroads  and  municipalities  at  a  generous 
figure  per  car,  while  the  land  which  it  covers  will  com 
mand  a  greatly  increased  figure  as  valuable  real  estate. 

This  slag  crust  is  from  ten  to  twenty  feet  deep,  and  at 
the  present  time  extends  over  a  few  acres  of  what  was  once 
a  beautiful  orchard.  As  the  great  dump  pot  discharges  its 
hell  fires  over  the  dump,  and  they  surge  horribly  down 
ward,  they  engulf  the  beautiful  orchard  trees  one  by  one, 
their  poor  helpless  trunks  bursting  the  thin  bark  in  blis 
tering  agony  as  the  fire  gradually  creeps  toward  them, 
and  when  the  slag  finally  reaches  them,  they  burst  into 
flames  and  are  consumed  where  they  stand.  Beholding 
this  tragedy  of  the  trees,  one  almost  screams  as  tho  wit 
nessing  the  destruction  of  human  life. 

Hundreds  of  workmen  are  employed  at  Plant  B.  The 
work  being  divided  into  two  shifts  of  twelve  hours  each, 
the  day  and  the  night.  Twelve  hours  of  incessant  back- 
breaking  labor  amid  the  deadly  fumes  of  the  furnaces, 
causing,  it-  is  said,  numerous  ailments  among  the  work 
men,  among  which  the  absorption  of  arsenic  and  other 
poisons  into  the  system  thru  the  pores  of  the  skin  from 
the  fumes  of  the  melting,  roasting  ores,  is  said  to  be  ul 
timately  fatal. 

The  stolid,  expressionless  faces  of  these  men  reveal  the 
ever-grinding  monotony  of  their  lives,  but  apparently 
they,  as  well  as  many  others  of  the  vast  rank  and  file  of 
labor,  must  be  content  for  the  time  in  the  knowledge  that 
their  arduous  toil  at  least  provides  food  and  shelter  for 
themselves  and  families. 

Surrounding  the  great  plant  on  all  sides  are  the  tiny 
cottages  of  the  workmen,  the  long  hours  making  a  nearby 
residence  almost  imperative.  Nearby,  too,  is  a  large,  pub 
lic  school,  and  these  toiling  smeltermen  can  almost  hear 
the  laughter  and  prattle  of  their  children  as  they  romp  in 
the  school  yard  at  recess.  Perhaps  as  these  sons  of  toil 
sweat  and  steam  in  the  hot  breath  of  the  furnaces,  they  are 
possessed  of  the  hope  that  their  children  shouting  so  joy- 


238         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

ously  at  play,  may  learn  to  emancipate  themselves  from 
the  long  hours  of  the  unhealthy,  poorly  paid  work  which 
sets  so  heavily  upon  their  afflicted  fathers.* 

In  addition  to  the  hundreds  of  laborers  employed  in 
the  actual  operation  of  Plant  B,  and  as  a  further  instance 
of  the  enormous  ramifications  of  the  Smelter  Trust,  it  is 
well  to  note  that  the  management  employs  hundreds  of 
miners  in  the  coal  mines;  scores  of  quarrymen  quarry 
ing  limestone  among  the  foothills  of  the  Rockies;  whole 
colonies  of  workmen  feeding  scores  of  coke  ovens;  and 
dozens  of  train  crews  operating  the  many  trains  neces 
sary  for  the  transportation  of  this  material. 

Truly  Plant  B  is  a  great  employer  of  labor. 

Yet  it  is  only  one  of  the  many  similar  holdings  of  the 
American  Smelter  Co.  And  even  this  great  plant  is 
rapidly  deteriorating,  such  is  the  rapid  advance  of  new 
methods  and  machinery.! 

Verily,  as  we  witness  the  daily  production  of  these 
hundreds  of  bars  of  precious  metal,  we  have  before  us 
the  absolute  living  proof  of  the  fabulous  wealth  of  the 
Great  Hills. 

All  hail!    Colorado! 

All  hail !    The  Golden  West ! 


*NOTE. — Since  the  above  was  written,  in  1903,  the  author 
understands,  that  several  months  previous  to  the  election  of  1906, 
the  Republican  party,  whose  nominees  for  the  state  legislature 
were  said  to  be  pledged  to  Simon  Guggenheim,  a  smelting  magnate 
at  that  time,  for  his  election  to  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 
succeeded  in  influencing  the  smelter  interests  of  the  state  to 
place  their  employees  upon  an  eight  hour^asis.  Thus  the  smelter 
employee  has,  at  least  as  far  as  hours  are  concerned,  come  info 
his  own,  at  which  change  the  author  greatly  rejoices. 

fNOTE. — In  confirmation  of  this  statement,  it  was  but  two 
years  after  the  above  was  written,  that  during  a  great  strike  of 
the  workmen  employed  in  Plant  B,  they  deliberately  abandoned 
the  furnaces,  causing  them,  as  it  is  termed  in  smelting  parlance, 
to  "freeze";  which  means  that  the  furnaces  no  longer  being  fed, 
the  blast  ceasing  with  the  cessation  of  the  machinery,  and  the 
slag  and  molten  metal  no  longer  being  removed,  the  entire  con 
tents  of  the  furnaces  cooled  and  solidified.  Which  circumstance 
caused  the  entire  loss  of  the  furnaces,  as  they  would  have  to  De 
completely  wrecked  in  order  to  remove  the  tons  and  tons  of 
solid  slag  and  metal  solidified  or  "froze"  within  them.  As  the 
smelter  management  had  under  construction  elsewhere  one  or 
more  modern  smelters  at  this  time,  they  refused  to  rebuild  or 
modernize  Plant  B.  And  today  this  once  teeming  hive  of  industry 
is  gradually  falling  to  decay  under  the  stress  of  wind  and  weather, 
and  its  great  smokestack  now  stands  mute  and  vaporless  o'er 
the  crumbling  ruins. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        239 

Sound  ear-splitting  salvos  in  honor  of  the  great  im 
measurable,  incomparable  Rockies. 

Brother  plainsmen,  salute  the  white  towers  of  the  Great 
Divide,  for  they  bring  the  people  gold  and  silver  to  buy 
your  wheat  and  produce. 

Brother  seamen,  waft  homage  to  the  white  wings  of 
snow,  that  furnish  commerce  for  the  white  wings  of  sail. 

Fellow  countrymen,  vociferously  applaud  the  snow-cov 
ered  roof  of  our  American  continent,  for  it  is  the  roof 
of  a  world's  Liberty  Hall. 

And  you,  worshippers  of  God  and  His  handmaiden — 
Nature,  every  where,  reverently  bow  down  to  the  eternal, 
soul  inspiring,  heaven-kissed,  Rocky  Mountains. 


CHAPTER   III 

In  1898,  Thomas  Bayard,  in  his  capacity  as  president 
of  the  Missouri  and  Colorado  Smelting  Co.,  began  to  ex 
perience  innumerable  difficulties  in  disposing  of  smelter 
products.  Also  in  the  purchase  and  delivery  of  supplies 
he  began  to  touch  mysterious  elements  of  annoyance  and 
resistance  that  he  had  never  encountered  before. 

Finally,  as  a  climax  to  his  increasing  perplexities,  he 
was  confronted  with  an  alarming  increase  in  transporta 
tion  charges  of  various  railroads,  which  caused  him  to  in 
terview  the  managers  of  the  several  national  railroads 
which  had  their  general  offices  in  Denver. 

These  managers  had  no  difficulty  in  suavely  pointing 
out  several  reasons  as  to  why  their  respective  companies 
were  justified  in  thus  surreptitiously  increasing  their  tar 
iffs;  but  afterwards,  when  Bayard  dwelt  in  detail  upon 
the  substance  of  his  conversations  with  them,  he  felt 
that  he  had  again  come  in  contact  with  that  same  strange 
and  mysterious  element  of  resistance,  of  whose  petty  an 
noyances  he  had  of  late  become  alarmingly  conscious, 
for  in  spite  of  the  reasons  advanced  by  the  blandly  smil 
ing  managers,  they  seemed  shallow  and  evasive. 

In  hopes  of  relief,  however,  he  began  to  watch  and  sys 
tematically  note  the  moves  and  operations  of  his  com 
petitors,  both  in  Denver  and  thruout  the  State.  But 
with  the  exception  of  several  small  plants,  the  managers 
of  whom  were  always  complaining  more  or  less,  he  found 
that  his  competitors  seemed  to  be  running  along  as  well 
as  usual.  They  seemed  to  be  making  heavy  purchases 
of  ore,  turning  out  a  big  product,  and  in  some  mys 
terious  manner  finding  a  ready  market  for  their  entire 
output;  also  the  railroads  seemed  to  serve  them  with  a 
promptness  which  was  very  marked  in  comparison  with 
the  dilatory  manner  they  served  his  plant.  Just  as  he 

241 


242        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

was  about  to  take  radical  measures  against  the  conspir 
ing  roads,  the  mystery  was  suddenly  cleared  up. 

As  he  sat  in  his  office  early  one  sunny  afternoon  look 
ing  over  a  pile  of  correspondence  which  his  stenographer 
had  just  laid  upon  his  desk,  his  secretary  opened  the 
door  and  brought  him  a  card;  "Solomon  Guggenhone," it 
read,  and  recognizing  the  name  instantly,  he  intuitively 
felt  that  it  meant  something.  Turning  to  the  waiting  sec 
retary  he  bowed  his  inclination  to  receive  the  gentleman. 

Presently  a  dapper  neatly  dressed  young  man  entered 
the  room.  He  was  a  trifle  under  medium  height,  poss 
essed  of  a  pleasant,  almost  boyish,  face,  adorned  with  a 
closely  trimmed  jet  black  mustache.  His  youthful  fea 
tures  were  not  marked  by  any  heavy  lines  of  character 
save  that  of  great  determination  and  a  certain  rare  sug 
gestion  of  future  power  and  acumen,  and  one  could 
readily  distinguish  the  general  unmistakable  features 
of  the  Sephardic  Jew. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,"  he  said  politely,  advancing  to  the  desk 
and  cordially  extending  his  hand. 

"Delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Guggenhone,  please  be 
seated,"  replied  the  smelter  magnate  pointing  to  a  chair, 
after  rising  to  his  feet  and  shaking  hands  with  his  visitor. 

"  Mr.  Bayard,"  began  the  young  man,  "  I  have  called 
upon  you  in  the  interests  of  a  party  of  capitalists  who 
desire  to  consolidate  the  smelting  and  refining  interests 
of  Colorado  and  the  West  in  general;  and  if  the  subject 
is  agreeable  to  you,  I  would  be  more  than  pleased  to  lay 
our  plans  before  you,  in  hopes  that  you  may  find  it  to 
your  interest  to  join  us  in  the  enterprise." 

Bayard  twisted  uneasily  in  his  chair  as  the  young 
man  stated  his  mission,  and  reaching  over  to  his  desk  he 
touched  the  -button  for  his  secretary,  who  appearing,  Bay 
ard  handed  him  the  stack  of  unfinished  correspondence, 
saying,  "Please  take  care  of  this,  Harry,  if  there  is  "any 
thing  of  particular  importance,  hold  it  over  for  me." 

Turning  again  to  his  visitor,  he  excused  the  interrup 
tion,  and  added  with  great  significance,  looking  his  vis 
itor  squarely  in  the  eye,  his  glance  being  returned  with 
a  quietly  attentive  stare. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        243 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  I  believe  the  time  has  come,  when 
Ave  caii  talk  consolidation.  Please  understand  me  as  most 
heartily  interested  in  the  plan  you  have  just  referred  to." 

The  young  Jew's  eyes  sparkled  pleasurably  and  sig 
nificantly,  and  he  proceeded  to  outline  his  proposition 
briefly  yet  fully.  As  he  finished  Bayard  remarked: 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  I  must  have  a  little  time  to  con 
sult  with  my  associates  in  the  matter,  and  if  convenient, 
I  will  meet  you  again  upon  the  subject — say,  at  four  to 
morrow  afternoon,  at  the  Brown  ordinary.  Will  that 
suit  your  convenience?" 

"Yes— exactly,  Mr.  Bayard,"  replied  his  visitor  rising 
and  smiling  cordially,  and  after  shaking  hands  again 
he  left  the  office. 

As  the  door  swung  behind  his  short  dapper  figure,  Bay 
ard  slapped  his  knees  with  his  chubby  hands,  saying, 
"By  gosh!  I  knew  it,  Tommy,  old  boy,  there's  your 
nigger  in  the  fence.  I'll  see  Dave  Moore  inside  the  next 
half  hour." 


CHAPTER  IV 

At  the  intersection  of  Seventeenth  and  Strong  streets  in 
the  city  of  Denver,  rises  a  great  office  building,  the  prop 
erty  of  a  large  New  York  assurance  society,  the  entire 
corner  of  the  street  floor  of  which  is  occupied  by  the  Na 
tional  First  Bank,  one  of  the  greatest  financial  institu 
tions  in  the  West. 

In  the  very  innermost  nook  of  this  hive  of  financial  in 
dustry,  is  the  private  office  of  the  president  of  National 
First,  David  Moore,  easily  the  greatest  financial  power 
of  Colorado.  He  had  lived  in  Denver  for  nearly  forty 
years,  having  arrived  when  he  was  a  young  man  barely 
of  age,  and  being  actively  identified  with  the  growth  and 
progress  of  the  city  from  its  earliest  inception,  even  when 
Colorado  was  a  part  of  the  old  federal  Territory  of  Kan 
sas.  Thus  he  had  seen  the  state  grow  up  grandly  about 
him,  likewise  the  city. 

In  all  the  fateful  and  tumultuous  periods  of  the  his 
tory  of  Colorado  and  the  city  of  Denver,  David  Moore  was 
ever  the  cool,  far-seeing,  masterful  genius  of  finance.  He 
became  wedded  to  Denver,  Colorado,  and  the  Golden 
West,  as  a  young  man  weds  his  fair  young  bride.  He 
had  been  known  to  say  in  a  burst  of  confidence  to  Phoebe 
Prim,  a  Denver  press  reporter,  "that  when  anybody  hits 
Colorado  a  lick,  I  just  jump  on  'em."  He  was  one  of  the 
truly  great  characters  of  the  modern  West,  had  been  more 
than  once  referred  to  by  admiring  press  representatives  as, 
"The  Duke  of  Denver;"  and  was  of  that  sterling  type 
of  substantial  manhood  which  has  left  its  indelible  mark 
on  every  page  of  the  world's  history,  being  possessed  of 
that  supreme  element  with  which  some  surpassing  indi 
viduals  are  endowed,  the  peculiar  modest  ability  to  quiet 
ly  and  thoroly — DO  things ! 

As  David  sat  leisurely  at  his  desk  late  in  the  after 
noon  of  the  same  day  upon  which  Solomon  Guggenhone 

245 


246        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

had  called  upon  the  president  of  the  M.  &  C.  S.  Co.,  the 
door  suddenly  swung  open,  and  in  walked  Thomas 
Bayard. 

"By  gosh,  Dave,  it  takes  a  lot  of  red  tape  to  get  into 
your  darned  old  den.  What  do  you  coop  yourself  up  for 
like  this  anyhow?" 

"Well,  Tom,  the  spider  must  set  in  the  middle  of  his 
web,  you  know.  And  here  I  am  in  the  middle  of  the  big 
gest  bank  in  town,"  replied  David,  smiling  up  good- 
humoredly  at  his  rather  unceremonious  caller,  altho 
he  might  have  called  his  attention  to  the  fact,  that  it 
had  not  been  so  many  years  since  a  fanatic  had  en 
countered  him  when  his  desk  was  located  in  the  gen 
eral  business  office  of  the  bank,- and  deliberately  robbed 
him  of  a  cool  twenty  thousand,  under  threat  of  blowing 
him  to  atoms  with  a  flask  of  nitre-glycerin  which  he 
brandished  under  his  nose. 

With  characteristic  cordiality  the  banker  rose  and  ex 
tended  a  chair  to  his  visitor.  Seating  himself  comforta 
bly  therein,  Bayard  related  the  substance  of  his  conver 
sation  with  young  Guggenhone.  As  he  finished,  the 
banker  picked  up  a  box  of  cigars  from  his  desk  and 
quietly  proffered  them  to  the  somewhat  blustery  magnate. 
After  Bayard  had  selected  a  choice  one,  and  David  had 
leisurely  helped  himself,  they  proceeded  to  light  them, 
and  presently  as  he  blew  the  fragrant  smoke  en  joy  ably 
toward  the  ceiling,  the  president  of  National  First  spoke. 

"Well,  Tom,  it's  your  move.  You've  got  to  go  into 
the  combination,  that's  a  cinch,"  he  said,  with  deep 
conviction. 

"But  by ,  Dave  Moore,"  replied  Bayard  heatedly,  "I 

ain't  never  goin*  to  be  run  by  a  lot  of  New  York  sheenies." 

"  Ever  look  up  the  history  of  the  Guggenhones,  Tom  ? 
Solly,  there,  is  a  graduate  of  my  old  alma  mater,  Har 
vard,"  said  the  banker,  with  a  sort  of  quiet  pride. 

"Nope,  I  never  needed  to,"  blurted  out  Bayard. 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  Tom,  they're  rock — 
hard,  solid,  Gunnison  granite.  Ever  hear  of  the  Roth 
schilds,  Tom?"  and  as  Bayard  nodded  affirmatively,  the 
banker  continued,  "Well,  back  of  these  .Guggenhone 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        247 

sheenies  of  yours,  is  the  greatest  financial  house  on  earth. 
Mighty  good  people,  too,  Tom.  I  might  safely  say  the 
equal,  if  not  the  best  of  any  people  on  God's  green  earth. 
I  am  personally  acquainted  with  the  Rothschilds  of  Lon 
don,  Paris,  and  Berlin.  Why,  man,  they  are  the  salt  of 
the  earth,  and  some  of  the  very  best  fellows  we've  got  right 
here  in  Denver  are  our  Jews.  Peaceable,  honorable,  just; 
and  imbued  where  us  Gentiles  give  them  a  chance,  with 
the  very  highest  attributes  of  civilization  and  progress. 
You  know  Jacob  Wondoner — the  best  Chamber  of  Com 
merce  president  we  ever  had ;  Spiegle's  another." 

"Well,  but  lookey  here,  Dave,  this  is  a  New  York 
move,"  said  Bayard  with  real  concern,  "sure  as  shoutin', 
they'll  gobble  us  all  up.  You  know  yourself,  Dave,  that 
a  sheeney  never  lets  loose  when  he  once  gets  a  hold. 
He  always  succeeds  in  running  the  whole  thing  in  the 
end." 

"  Say,  Tom,  you  reckon  you  know  something  about 
those  hills  over  there,  don't  you?"  replied  the  banker, 
pointing  half  mischievously,  half  meaningly  in  the 
direction  of  the  mountains. 

"Well— well,  I  should  rather  think  I  do!"  exclaimed 
Bayard,  in  a  tone  which  almost  indicated  indignation  to 
be  thus  lightly  questioned  about  the  Great  Hills,  the  re 
sources  of  which  he  had  spent  the  most  of  his  life  in 
developing. 

"Well,  Tom,"  continued  David,  smiling  to  himself 
delightedly  as  Bayard  bit  at  his  sly  bantering,  "You  fel 
lows  have  only  just  scratched  those  hills.  To  be  sure, 
you've  taken  out  a  few  millions,  but  that  ain't  a  patchin' 
to  what's  left  there  waiting  to  be  dug  out.  Why  not  let 
these  Eastern  fellows  in  here,  and  let  'em  scratch  all  they 
want  to.  You'll  get  your  money  out  of  the  deal  all  right. 
They  offer  you  a  handsome  profit,  which  years  of  the 
most  careful  management  won't  bring  you.  These  Gug- 
genhones  will  keep  their  word  to  the  letter.  I'll  put  up 
all  my  stock  in  National  First,  and  that's  some,  old  boy, 
that  any  arrangement  which  you  make  with  them  will  be 
carried  out  to  the  dot.  Yes,  let  'em  come  in,  Tom.  Let's 
even  help  'em  to  open  up  these  hills  of  ours.  Can't  you 


248        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

see  that  every  dollar  that  comes  out  of  those  hills  adds 
strength  to  our  state,  our  city,  and  our  private  fortunes. 
And  for  heaven's  sake,  Tom,  whatever  you  do,  don't 
discourage  outside  capital.  We're  here  first.  Thru  long 
and  arduous  experience  we're  in  exact  touch  with  this 
great  state  of  ours.  And  you  can  always  bet,  that  inside 
men  like  us  fellows,  who  are  in  on  the  ground  floor  of 
every  proposition  in  Colorado,  can  take  care  of  number 
one.  Why,  you  old  muddle  head,  there  have  been  times, 
not  so  many  years  back,  when  you  and  I,  and  all  the 
other  Chamber  of  Commerce  men,  were  actually  spending 
thousands  of  dollars  annually  just  trying  to  rope  some 
of  these  Eastern  fellows  in,  and  nobody  knows  that  any 
better  than  you  do.  And  what  do  you  want  to  freeze 
'em  out  now  for,  when  they're  falling  all  over  themselves 
trying  to  get  into  the  band-wagon.  It's  time  you  were 
getting  in,  too,  Tom.  The  trouble  with  you  is  that 
you've  had  a  mortal  cinch  so  long,  that  you  can't  let 
loose.  So  loosen  up,  patch  up  a  deal  with  these  Jews  and 
help  'em  to  get  to  work.  You — you  can't  fight  'em, 
Tom,  they're  too  big;  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do,  that 
this  fighting  business  costs  money." 

The  words  fell  from  David  Moore's  lips  in  solid  earnest 
flow,  and  as  Bayard  felt  the  truth  of  them,  he  also  re 
alized  that  they  sounded  the  end  of  his  days  as  an  ac 
tive  smelting  man ;  but  refusing  to  give  way  to  the  deep 
regret  which  tugged  at  his  sturdy  old  heartstrings  for 
the  first  time  in  his  career,  he  reached  over  for  another 
of  Davy's  cigars  and  slowly  lighted  it.  Evidently  the 
same  sentiment  was  affecting  the  banker,  and  for  a  few 
moments  neither  spoke,  then  Bayard  rose,  saying: 

"Er — good  advice,  Dave,  thank  you,  I  appreciate  it — 
but-^-but  darn  them  sheenies,"  he  added  doggedly,  and 
shoving  his  hat  crustily  over  his  ears  he  pushed  the  door 
and  disappeared. 

David  laughed  heartily  to  himself  after  Bayard's  de 
parture,  which  mood  soon  gave  way  to  one  deeply  senti 
mental,  as  suggested  by  the  probable  passing  of  his  old 
friend's  business  career  under  the  stress  of  the  new  re 
gime.  Presently  he  walked  over  to  a  magnificent  oil  paint- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        249 

ing  which  hung  on  the  wall,  and  gazed  at  it  long  and 
musingly. 

It  represented  an  old-time  prairie  schooner  pulled  by 
several  yoke  of  oxen  slowly  Wending  their  way  westward 
across  the  bleak  prairies  towards  the  setting  sun  sinking 
behind  the  mountains  in  the  far  distance.  On  the  brow 
of  a  high  mesa  in  the  near  foreground,  was  a  lone  Indian 
sitting  upon  a  pony,  his  hands  raised  to  his  eyes  as  tho 
watching  with  breaking  heart  the  course  of  the  remorse 
less  invader. 

"  The  wild  West,",  muttered  the  old  banker,  "Ah,  how 
times  have  changed  since  then,  when  now  the  Jews,  the 
great  princes  of  finance,  seek  to  control  the  products  of 
those  precious  hills  which  only  a  few  years  ago  were 
merely  the  playground  of  the  Indian  and  the  wolf.  And  I 
guess  its  almost  up  to  me,  for  surely  I'm  the  Indian  now — 
I'm  getting  old,"  and  turning  from  the  picture  he  paced 
slowly  across  the  room  several  times,  and  returning  to  his 
desk  murmured  as  he  sat  down,  "But  blame  me  if  I  don't 
wear  out  tho,  I'll  never  let  the  game  rust  me." 


CHAPTER  V 

Several  months  after  the  first  meeting  between  Solomon 
Guggenhone  and  Thomas  Bayard,  the  same  gentleman, 
in  company  with  several  others,  including  Theodore 
Dodge,  were  holding  a  meeting  in  a  newly  furnished 
suite  of  offices  in  the  New  England  building  on  Seven 
teenth  Street  in  Denver.  This  suite  was  the  western  head 
quarters  of  the  newly  organized  Smelter  Trust,  the  Amer 
ican  Smelter  Co.;  the  old  M.  &  C.  S.  Co.,  having  been 
merged  into  and  absorbed  by  the  new  organization. 

This  giant  industrial  was  capitalized  for  $55,000,000, 
and  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  it  was  so  ingeniously 
devised  and  operated  as  to  pay  generous  and  bona  fide 
dividends  upon  this  enormous  capitalization  from  the 
very  day  of  its  completed  organization.  Well  might 
David  Moore  say,  "that  the  Jews  were  the  princes  of 
finance."  - 

Both  Bayard  and  Dodge,  as  well  as  the  other  stock 
holders  of  the  now  extinct  M.  &  C.  S.  Co.,  were  well  sat 
isfied  with  the  deal.  They  had  received  the  full  valu 
ation  of  their  property  in  cash,  and  were  also  the  recip 
ients  of  large  blocks  of  the  capital  stock  of  the  newly 
formed  corporation.  A  few  months  later,  after  the  new 
corporation  was  in  full  operation  and  in  complete  con 
trol  of  the  central  Rocky  Mountain  smelter  situation, 
this  stock,  much  of  which  was  said  to  be  pure  water, 
had  nearly  attained  the  par  value  of  one  hundred  cents 
on  the  dollar.  In  a  year's  time  it  actually  commanded 
a  premium  on  the  various  stock  exchanges  of  the  coun 
try.  And  all  because  great  financiers  of  national  repute 
were  back  of  it,  and  regardless  of  the  real  value  of  the 
corporation's  actual  holdings,  no  matter  how  inflated  their 
value  might  'be,  the  concern  could  pay  generous  divi 
dends  upon  its  enormous  capital  stock. 

The  original  holdings  of  the  American  Smelter  Co.,  in- 

251 


252         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

eluded  some  twenty-three  smelting  plants  and  refineries 
located  in  various  parts  of  the  country  both  East  and 
West.  In  Colorado  it  was  from  its  inception  practically 
supreme,  with  but  one  exception,  which  was  of  very 
slight  importance  when  the  insignificance  of  the  concern 
was  considered.  But  tho  small,  it  was  capable  of  growth, 
and  acting  upon  the  theory  that  the  plant  might  possibly 
develop,  under  capable  management  backed  with  suf 
ficient  capital,  into  an  active  competitor,  the  members  of 
the  executive  board  of  the  Trust  shortly  after  its  organ 
ization,  were  earnestly  discussing  the  subject  of  absorbing 
this  small  plant,  of  which  the  following  is  a  brief  history. 

At  Goldie,  a  large  town  tucked  away  in  the  foothills 
a  few  miles  to  the  west  of  Denver,  was  located  a  smelter 
known  as  the  "Gilpin."  It  was  owned  by  a  Connecticut 
Yankee  by  the  name  of  Jonathan  Strong.  In  some  man 
ner  this  genius  of  the  "Nutmeg"  state  had  dropped  upon 
a  few  secrets  of  metallurgy  and  had  built  up  his  smelter 
from  the  patched  up  relics  of  several  antiquated  smelters 
•which  had  been  operated  in  the  early  days  of  Colorado, 
when  Denver  was  a  much  smaller  village  than  Goldie  it 
self;  but  as  fast  as  the  flourishing  city  by  the  Platte  had 
attained  proportions  it  had  gradually  drawn  away  the 
trade  of  the  foothill  city,  and  with  that  trade  had  been 
drawn  the  fires  of  the  oldtime  smelters  of  Goldie. 

In  addition  to  the  ingenuity  displayed  by  Strong  in 
the  rigging  up  of  his  plant,  he  had  also  developed  an 
ability  for  managing  his  concern  that  was  highly  unique. 
For  it  was  his  custom  to  visit  at  regular  intervals  the 
various  camps  of  the  Clear  Creek  district,  and  taking  ad 
vantage  of  the  different  mine  operators'  dissatisfaction 
with  their  treatment  at  the  hands  of  the  various  smelters 
of  Denver,  he  had  gradually  obtained  sufficient  shipments 
of  ore  to  keep  his  plant  running  continuously.  He  could 
not  afford  to  employ  a  corps  of  ore  buyers,  but  instead, 
would  persuade  the  operators  to  consign  their  ores  to 
him  to  be  smelted  at  a  very  close  margin.  And  in  his 
eagerness  for  business  he  had  for  years  insinuated  to  his 
customers,  of  the  probable  organization  of  a  smelter  trust 
in  the  near  future  which  would  crowd  out  not  only  the 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        253 

small  mine  operator,  but  would  also  destroy  that  active 
competition  which  his  plant  afforded.  When  this  talk, 
which  for  several  years  was  pure  humbug,  did  really  be 
come  an  actual  fact.  Strong  continued  to  beguile  the 
Clear  Creek  miners  with  his  cry  of  Trust  competition  and 
hard-time  talk,  while  all  the  time  he  was  planning  to 
sell  his  plant  to  the  Trust  at  the  very  first  opportunity,' 
and  which  plan  had  probably  been  in  his  mind  when 
he  started  in  the  business. 

Among  the  active  discontents  of  uoper  Clear.  Creek 
was  Standish  Brown,  who  for  years  had  carefully  noted 
the  remarkable  growth  and  development  of  the  smelting 
industry.  And  his  very  first  battle  with  the  Denver  con 
cerns  had  been  over  the  gold  values  which  were  con 
tained  to  a  generous  degree  in  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds, 
and  for  which  the  Denver  smelters  were  loath  to  settle, 
as  it  had  been  customary  for  many  years  previous  to  1893, 
for  them  to  settle  with  the  operators  upon  a  purely  sil 
ver  basis.  Thus  in  those  flush  times  before  silver  was  de 
monetized,  the  miners  made  such  a  large  profit  upon  that 
basis,  that  they  rarely  ever  sought,  much  less  got,  an  ac 
counting  for  whatever  gold  values  their  ores  might  con 
tain,  and  which  in  most  cases  was  rather  insignificant, 
at  least  in  the  Clear  Creek  camps  where  silver  so  largely 
predominated. 

But  Standish,  however,  thru  his  intimate  knowledge 
of  assaying,  was  perfectly  informed  as  to  the  gold  values 
contained  in  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds,  and  he  had  at 
an  early  date  insisted  that  he  be  fully  paid  for  them  in 
addition  to  the  larger  silver  values  they  contained.  After 
months  of  quarreling  and  even  threatening,  the  smelters 
gave  in,  and  he  began  to  get  returns  for  the  gold  values 
as  well  as  for  silver.  It  was  a  great  victory  for  him, 
for  afterwards  these  same  gold  values  were  the  salva 
tion  of  his  mine  during  the  terrific  slump  of  silver  which 
coincided  with  the  panic  of  1893. 

His  next  clash  with  the  Denver  smelters  was  over  the 
discovery  that  the  railroads  were  openly  discriminating 
against  the  smelters  of  Goldie.  For  these  railroads  were 
controlled  almost  exclusively  by  Denverites  who  likewise 


254 

were  heavily  interested  in  the  Denver  smelters.  Thus  a 
cold-blooded  plot  had  been  concocted  by  these  Denver  cap 
italists,  in  defiance  of  all  principles  of  justice  and  honor, 
to  exterminate  their  competitors.  And  as  an  instance  of 
this  iniquity,  it  can  be  stated  that  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.  ac 
tually  hauled  a  carload  of  ore  down  Clear  Creek  gulch, 
thru  Goldie,  and  the  ten  or  twelve  additional  miles  on 
to  Denver,  for  considerable  less  than  it  would  haul  a  car 
load  from  the  same  points  to  Goldie.  Not  only  was  this 
infamous  practice  maintained  for  years,  but  consign 
ments  of  ore  billed  to  Goldie  were  held  up  and  delayed, 
quantities  of  ore  stolen  or  lost  in  transit,  and  in  many 
other  ways  petty  indignities  were  perpetrated  upon  these 
shipments. 

For  pure  self  preservation  Standish  spent  several  thou 
sand  dollars  in  fighting  this  railroad  iniquity  thru  sev 
eral  sessions  of  the  state  legislature,  the  smelting  and 
railroad  interests  fighting  him  boldly  and  openly.  Forced 
to  extreme  measures,  however,  Standish  and  his  followers 
were  finally  able  to  bring  bribery  charges  against  sev 
eral  members  of  the  legislature,  the  fight  culminating 
in  a  battle  that  was  long  remembered  in  the  minds  of 
Denver  smelting  and  railroad  magnates.  Curious  enough, 
it  was  Theodore  Dodge  -who  was  the  backbone  of  the  smel 
ter  opposition,  for  he  did  not  hesitate  to  openly  and  ac 
tively  lobby  at  the  capitol  building  in  the  interests  of 
the  railroads  and  smelters. 

In  the  end,  long  after  the  Goldie  smelters  had  been 
compelled  to  cease  operations,  Standish's  influence  and 
money  succeeded  in  restoring  the  rates  to  a  more  just  and 
equitable  basis,  and  incidentally  arousing  the  people  of 
the^  state  to  the  necessity  of  establishing  a  competent  and 
active  railroad  commission.  However,  the  smelters  of 
Goldie  had  long  since  perished  from  this  and  other 
causes,  and  save  the  lone  plant  which  was  later  revived 
by  Jonathan  Strong,  the  industry  was  dead.  It  was  at 
this  time  that  Standish,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  be 
gan  seriously  to  consider  building  a  smelter  himself,  but 
just  as  he  was  about  to  investigate  the  defects  and  merits 
of  Goldie  as  the  possible  site  for  a  successful  plant,  Jon- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         255 

uthan  Strong  had  dawned  upon  the  scene,  and  Standish 
had  thereupon  agreed  to  divert  a  generous  portion  of  his 
product  to  the  Gilpin  as  an  experiment.  And  as  soon 
as  the  Yankee  had  demonstrated  his  ability  to  success 
fully  treat  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds,  Standish  turned 
over  his  entire  product  to  him  much  elated  in  the  thought 
that  he  had  won  a  decisive  battle  over  the  Denver  con 
cerns  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  close  and  independent 
market. 

The  shrewd  Yankee  constantly  fostered  his  customer's 
interest  in  the  Gilpin,  among  other  items  of  course,  by 
constantly  intimating  that  a  combination  might  be  formed 
at  any  time  to  crowd  his  concern  from  the  field.  There 
fore  when  the  organization  of  the  American  Smelter  Co. 
was  formally  announced  in  the  state  press,  Jonathan 
Strong  prepared  to  reap  his  long  anticipated  harvest.  He 
would  sell  his  cheap  antiquated  plant  to  the  Trust  at 
a  big  price.  He  had  eked  out  a  slender  living  for  years, 
purposely  doing  business  upon  a  narrow  margin,  in  order 
to  hold  not  only  his  trade  but  be  in  a  position  when  the 
opportune  time  came,  to  insist  and  obtain  long  time  con 
tracts  with'  his  customers  as  an  asset  by  which  his  plant 
would  actually  command  a  large  price  from  the  Trust. 

That  his  standing  with  Standish  Brown  would  give 
him  a  favorable  hearing  with  the  newly  formed  Trust 
was  almost  certain.  The  Denver  smelters  were  still  smart 
ing  from  the  effects  of  the  fight  which  Standish  had  put 
up.  They  had  investigated  his  wealth  and  resources,  and 
they  knew  his  power.  With  them  he  was  a  marked 
man.  Fearing  his  power,  they  had  always  united  their 
interests  in  fighting  him,  regardless  of  how  fiercely  they 
might  battle  among  themselves.  It  was  always  Standish 
Brown  against  the  field. 

Thus  at  this  meeting  of  the  executive  board  of  the 
Trust,  the  members  had  before  them  a  communication 
from  Jonathan  Strong,  to  the  effect  that  he  was  open  to 
an  offer  from  them,  or  else  he  would  interest  capital,  pre 
sumably  Standish  Brown's,  and  build  a  great  in 
dependent  plant  either  at  Goldie  or  Denver.  Now  this 
latter  statement  was  considered  by  the  board  for  what 


256        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

it  actually  was— a  pure  bluff;  but  they  did  want  to  muz 
zle  this  enterprising  Yankee  and  control  the  output  of  his 
plant.  They  felt  that  this  was  a  comparatively  easy 
matter  to  settle,  but  the  question  was,  what  to  do  with 
Brown?  The  old  concerns  had  felt  his  power  more  than 
once.  His  fierce  uncompromising  fight  with  the  old  smelt 
ing  interests  was  the  talk  and  glory  of  every  independent 
mining  camp  and  newspaper  in  Colorado,  and  he  poss 
essed  a  large  following  of  friendly  and  influential  mine 
operators.  The  board  considered  him  entirely  capable 
of  building  a  great  smelting  plant  if  he  chose  to  do  so. 
He  had  the  genius  and  wealth,  and  could  also  obtain  from 
his  mine  owner  friends  all  the  ore  he  wanted.  It  was 
plain  that  if  this  impertinent  Yankee  chose  to  interest 
him,  the  Trust  might  Lave  a  fight  on  its  hands  that  would 
prick  its  bubble,  and  seriously  affect  the  stock  market. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Theodore  Dodge  again  be 
came  conspicuous  as  Standish  Brown's  chief  trouble 
maker,  by  concocting  a  brilliant  scheme  to  tie  him  hand 
and  foot.  Having  been  mixed  up  with  upper  Clear 
Creek  affairs  more  or  less  for  years  in  his  former  man 
agement  of  the  Sampson-Smith  properties,  and  in  his 
lobbying  against  Brown  at  the  state  capitol,  he  was  fully 
informed  of  Brown's  peculiar  temperament  and  charac 
ter,  and  as  the  direct  result  of  this  information  and  his 
own  keen  acumen,  he  made  the  following  suggestion 
to  the  board. 

That  the  board  agree  upon  purchase  terms  with  Strong, 
only  upon  the  condition,  that  he  secure  Brown's  sig 
nature  to  a  contract,  binding  Brown,  his  heirs  and 
assigns,  to  deliver  his  entire  product  to  the  Gilpin  smelter 
or  its  successors,  for  a  period  of  at  least  four  years. 

In  that  length  of  time  Dodge  figured  that  the  board 
could  probably  arrange  a  further  program  to  embarrass 
or  bring  to  terms  the  obstreperous  young  mine  owner. 
Dodge  exhibited  his  usual  cleverness  still  further,  by  sug 
gesting  that  Brown  would  probably  refer  such  a  con 
tract  to  John  Charles  Rose,  his  attorney,  and  that  a  repre 
sentative  of  the  corporation  should  call  on  him  to  recom 
mend  to  his  principal  the  closing  of  such  a  contract.  In 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        257 

making  this  suggestion,  Dodge  was  fully  aware  of  the 
political  aspirations  of  John  Charles,  and  he  felt  secure 
in  the  thought  that  the  ambitious  attorney  would  not 
scruple  at  feathering  his  own  nest  at  the  expense  of  his 
client.  After  considerable  discussion,  Dodge's  plan  was- 
agreed  upon,  and  the  board  adjourned. 

This  incident  however,  does  not  appear  upon  the  for 
mal  minutes  of  the  board;  like  hundreds  of  other  inci 
dents  in  the  inner  history  of  many  of  America's  gigantic 
corporations,  it  was  smothered  in  the  secret  recesses  of  the 
executive,  or  rather  executioner's  board. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  few  days  after  the  foregoing  session  of  the  board, 
Standish  received  a  call  from  Jonathan  Strong,  who  for 
obvious  reasons,  made  the  trip  from  Goldie  to  Plume 
for  the  express  purpose  of  closing  a  long  term  contract 
with  his  loyal  and  good-natured  customer.  Standish  re 
ceived  him  with  his  usual  cordiality,  and  immediately 
Strong  began  to  sound  him  about  the  contract. 

"Really,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Strong,  in  a  well  feigned 
burst  of  confidence,  after  having  previously  delivered  a 
long  tirade  upon  the  gross  iniquities  of  Jhe  newly  formed 
Trust,  "I  don't  know  where  you  and  I  will  land  in  this 
business,  and  I  have  made  you  this  visit  solely  to 
effect  a  perfect  understanding  between  us,  that  I  may 
be  guaranteed  the  steady  production  of  the  40  Rounds 
for  the  maintenance  of  my  smelter." 

"Well,  Jonathan,"  replied  Standish  heartily,  "I  don't 
see  but  what  you  and  I  can  agree  upon  terms — always 
found  me  on  the  square,  haven't  you?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Brown,  you  have  indeed  been  a  loyal  friend," 
replied  Strong  with  his  characteristic  whine,  "But  you 
can't  tell  what  might  happen,  and  a  good  solid  written 
contract  between  us  will  protect  our  heirs,  and  assure 
me  the  product  of  the  mine  in  any  event.  Business  is 
business,  Mr.  Brown,  and  I  don't  feel  justified  in  working 
on  uncertainties.  I  have  got  my  hands  more  than  full  in 
keepin'  the  plant  a  goin',  and  I  think  I  ought  to  be  free 
from  the  worry  of  where  my  ore's  comin'  from.  The  Trust 
is  liable  to  spring  something  on  me  most  any  time,  and 
I've  got  to  sail  under  close  canvas  and  be  careful." 

"  All  right,  brother  Jonathan,"  said  Standish,  smiling 
at  his  colleague's  apparent  concern,  "draw  up  the  sort  of 
contract  which  you  think  is  fair  to  both  of  us,  and  send 
it  to  my  attorney  in  Denver,  Mr.  Rose.  You  must  know 
his  address  I  think,  and  if  he  approves  of  it,  I  will  sign 


259 


260        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

it  and  mail  it  to  you,  and  thus  end  your  doubts  as  to  the 
delivery  of  the  product  of  the  40  Rounds.  God  bless 
the  old  girl,  anyway,  Jonathan ;  made  another  big  strike 
in  her  the  other  day.  The  ore  runs  up  to  $106.65  a  ton." 

After  this  conversation  Strong  took  the  evening  train 
for  Denver,  scarcely  casting  a  glance  at  his  plant  in 
Goldie  as  the  train  passed  thru  the  town.  But  no  wonder, 
the  main  financial  event  of  his  life  was  at  hand,  and  with 
a  Yankee,  such  an  occasion  is  very  near  the  main  one 
of  his  life,  not  excepting  his  marriage  or  the  death  of  his 
father-in-law.  To  sell  his  antiquated  plant  for  a  high 
price  and  gain  thereby  a  snug  fortune  to  last  him  the  rest 
of  his  days — surely,  that  was  indeed  a  triumph. 

The  next  morning  he  visited  the  offices  of  the  Trust  in 
the  New  England  block,  and  remained  closeted  with  its  at 
torney  for  nearly  an  hour;  finally  emerging  with  some 
typewritten  documents  in  his  hand,  which  was  the  coveted 
contract  as  dictated  and  drawn  up  in  duplicate  to  the  full 
satisfaction  of  the  Trust's  attorney.  Placing  it  carefully 
in  his  inside  coat  pocket,  Strong  then  made  his  way  to  the 
office  of  John  Charles  Rose. 

"Here's  a  paper  for  you  to  look  over,  Mr.  Rose,"  he 
said,  "Mr.  Brown  told  me  to  tell  you,  that  if  it  met  with 
your  0.  K.,  to  please  mail  it  to  him  and  he  would  sign  it. 
A  bad  thing  this  Trust  business  is,  Mr.  Rose,"  he  added 
with  a  knowing  wink,  which  the  attorney  pretended  to 
ignore,  "Mr.  Brown  and  I  are  about  to  close  a  contract 
to  protect  our  mutual  interests." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Strong,  we  will  look  into  the  matter 
at  once,  and  if  I  find  it  satisfactory  I  will  mail  it  to  Mr. 
Brown  this  evening." 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  guile  upon  the  cold  impassive 
features  of  the  attorney,  and  altho  fully  assured  by  the 
Trust's  attorney  that  Rose  was  in  the  deal,  the  cunning 
Yankee  could  scarcely  believe  it,  such  was  his  cool  suave 
expression  and  manner.  But  the  deal  was  on  at  last, 
and  Strong  figured  that  he  would  soon  know  the  result. 
John  Charles  retired  into  his  private  office  and  care 
fully  examined  the  contract.  It  was  drawn  up  exactly  as 
the  Trust's  attorney  had  intimated  to  him  at  lunch  thepre- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        261 

vious  day.  It  would  irrevocably  bind  his  client  to  the 
marketing  of  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds  with  the  Gilpin 
smelter,  its  successors  and  assigns,  for  the  period  of  four 
years;  and  as  the  attorney  finished  his  examination  he 
rose  and  slowly  paced  back  and  forth  thinking  over  the 
situation. 

Life  was  a  game  with  him.  A  great  chessboard,  upon 
which  one  makes  certain  moves  and  obtains  certain 
results.  The  bait  which  had  been  offered  him  by  the 
representative  of  the  Trust  as  the  price  of  betraying  his 
client,  was  patronage.  It  would  turn  over  to  him  a  cer 
tain  percentage  of  its  legal  business  each  year,  and  would 
also  support  him  in  his  political  deals,  which  was  the 
main  thing,  for  the  giant  corporation  was  composed  of 
the  Guggenhones  who  controlled,  and  some  of  the  most 
influential  men  in  Colorado,  as  well  as  several  of  the 
most  famous  money  kings  of  Wall  Street.  It  was  just 
such  an  alliance  as  the  ambitious  attorney  had  long  de 
sired. 

But  how  about  his  client? 

Surely  Stan  dish  Brown  was  entitled  to  some  consider 
ation,  at  least  he  was  paying  for  it. 

What!  That  rough,  arrogant,  overgrown  miner?  Dig 
ging  blindly  away  up  there  in  the  mountains.  In  what 
manner  would  such  a  contract  affect  him?  He  would  get 
an  honest  return  for  every  dollar's  worth  of  ore.  In  fact, 
the  contract  would  be  of  great  advantage  to  him,  for  with 
the  selling  out  of  this  irresponsible  Yankee  to  the  Trust, 
Brown  would  have  a  valuable  binding  contract  with  a 
large  and  responsible  concern. 

How  foolish  to  scruple  over  a  contract  which  was  of 
real  substantial  benefit  to  his  client,  and — and  of  such 
great  incalculable  benefit  to  Mm,  John  Charles  Rose,  the 
rising  political  power  of  Colorado.  Besides,  Brown  would 
never  know  of  the  deal,  and  even  if  he  did  suspect  it,  he 
would  have  no  proof.  But  in  any  event,  the  long  and 
honorable  record  of  John  Charles  Rose  and  his  father  in 
the  able  management  of  the  Brown  estate,  would  certainly 
appeal  to  him,  and  defeat  any  rash  act  of  retaliation 
which  his  hot  indignation  might  contemplate  if  he  ever 


262         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

discovered  the  deal.  Also,  was  he  not  on  the  inside  of  all 
this  rough  miner's  affairs,  had  his  hands  on  all  his  se 
curities,  bonds,  investments,  etc.?  Indeed,  if  forced  to 
play  a  strong  hand  he  could  embarrass  the  gentleman 
with  many  legal  entanglements,  and  if  necessary,  actu 
ally  force  him  to  a  settlement. 

Pshaw!  It  was  foolish  to  anticipate  trouble  in  that 
quarter.  He  had  decided,  he  would  recommend  the  sign 
ing  of  the  contract  to  his  client. 

In  this  deliberation,  John  Charles  Rose  looked  within 
the  theatre  of  his  soul,  and  saw  himself  addressing  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States.  A  power  among  the  great 
men  of  the  nation.  He  beheld  himself  secretly  backed 
by  the  influence  of  great  corporations.  He  saw  the  masses 
of  the  people  supporting  him  as  the  leader  of  a  great 
party,  shouting  and  applauding  their  hearty  approval  of 
his  spotless  career  as  a  worthy  son  of  Colorado.  He  saw 
himself  filling  a  chair  similar  to  that  of  his  favorite 
statesman,  the  great  Kentuckian,  Henry  Clay. 

A  SENATOR  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES,  and  this— 
this  was  his  opportunity;  to  effect  an  alliance,  thru  this 
contract  of  Standish  Brown's,  with  one  of  the  great  powers 
which  would  lift  him  to  that  long  coveted  goal. 

"  There  is  a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 
Which  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  Fortune; 
Omitted,  all  the  voyage  of  their  life 
Is  bound  in  shallows,  and  in  miseries." 

For  centuries,  the  above  honeyed  words  of  Shakespeare 
have  caused  weak  men  to  err. 

OPPORTUNITY! 

Oh,  who  can  translate  thy  fatal  sophistry? 

Vain,  self  loving,  ambitious  men,  forever  seeking  after 
thee;  and  acting  upon  thy  supposed  infallibility,  only  to 
fall  down  in  bitter,  crushing,  and  ignominious  defeat  and 
ruin. 

The  world  empire  seekers — Alexander,  Pompey,  Napo 
leon. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        263 

The  vainly  seeking  and  disappointed  president  aspi 
rants;  Webster,  Greeley,  Blaine. 

OPPORTUNITY! 

Oh !  William  Shakespeare,  thou  mistaketh  somewhat  in 
this  fascinating  speech  of  Brutus',  if  thou  meantest  it  for 
pure  truth. 

A  fateful  moment  of  "a  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men?" 

Ah!  Sweet  truth,  this  sentiment  might  apply  to  worldly" 
—  to  selfish,  designing,  weak  men;  but  to  true  men— 
never! 

There  is  no  ebb  and  flow  in  the  affairs  of  true  men — 
those  great  unselfish  souls  who  bear  undaunted  the  bur 
den  of  Life,  and  ascend  the  high  reared  summits  of  eternal 
honor. 

They  do  not  ponder,  and  anxiously  await  an  opportune 
moment;  but  walk  serenely  on  to  their  high  appointed 
places,  unmindful  of  what  weak  men  call,  opportunity. 

True  men,  and  all  truly  great  men,  are  sublimely  un 
conscious,  that  there  ever  was  "a  tide"  or  time  in  their 
simple,  natural,  dutiful  careers,  in  which  they  could  have 
acted  in  a  different  manner  than  the  straight  and  narrow 
path  of  truth  and  honest  conduct ;  or  by  any  other  route 
ascended  to  that  place  which  it  was  their  right  and  sure 
destiny  to  obtain  and  fill. 

Bah!  Feed  opportunity  to  jingoes,  ambitious  men, 
and  slot-machines;  but  to  true  men  feed  purity  of  soul 
and  noble  and  steadfast  purpose. 

"Seek  ye  first  the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteous 
ness  and  all  things  shall  be  added  unto  you." 

Bah!  This  weak  doctrine  of  Opportunity.  Editors  of 
the  current  magazine,  "Success,"  remove  this  false  doc 
trine  from  your  columns.* 

Teach  your  young  readers  to  live  the  life  of  Truth, 
of  Israel.  To  toe  the  mark.  To  study  themselves  and 
live  up  to  that  truth  which  they  find  within  themselves 
and  observe  in  others.  Do  not  hold  out  to  trusting  inno 
cence  this  dreadful  delusion.  This  false  god,  Opportu. 

*NOTE. — In  the  May,  1903,  issue  of  the  popular  magazine, 
"Success,"  is  the  picture  of  a  young  man,  who,  evidently  travel 
worn  and  weary,  has  lain  down  his  pack,  and  is  resting  upon  the 


"264        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Some  misguided  readers  will  wait  all  their  miserable 
lives  to  get  acquainted  with  and  snatch  vainly  at  the 
fleeting  draperies  of  Opportu.  Poor  cowards  they,  tremb 
ling  with  apprehension  and  anxiety,  and  weary  with  wait 
ing  for  the  passage  of  a  phantom.  Who  will  sink  into 
their  sad  graves,  sorry  and  unhappy  failures;  whereas,  if 
they  had  been  trained  to  step  bravely  and  confidently  for 
ward  upon  the  path  of  life,  and  climbed  the  road  with 
the  balance  of  their  fellows,  they  would  have  proved  them 
selves,  if  not  famous  and  illustrious,  at  least  worthy  and 
competent. 

Opportu  at  Waterloo,  was  much  different  from  Opportu 
at  Austerlitz,  my  dear  young  America. 

Opportu  at  Waterloo  was  an  opportunity  for  Napoleon, 
whom  history  shows  as  perhaps  the  greatest  opportunist 
who  ever  lived,  to  FAIL;  as  well  as  for  Wellington,  who 
was  simply  doing  his  plain  duty  as  the  trusted  general 
of  an  army,  to  win. 

Napoleon's  seeking  and  accepting  so-called  opportuni 
ties  finally  landed  him  at  St.  Helena,  a  sea  girt  isle,  where 
he  died  ignominiously  like  a  rat  in  a  trap,  after  a  sicken 
ing  career  of  bloodshed,  rapine,  and  dishonor. 

But  Abraham  Lincoln  lived  his  noble  life,  without 
ducking  and  twisting  his  head  in  order  to  see,  or  wildly 
to  scamper  over  the  country  in  order  to  follow  the  most 
false  and  fickle  Opportu.  The  Proclamation  of  Emanci 
pation  was  a  matter  of  extreme  necessity  for  the  preser 
vation  of  the  sacred  principle  of  Truth  and  Liberty,  the 
announcement  of  which  caused  Lincoln's,  whole  cabinet 
to  stand  aghast.  But  courteously  disregarding  the  fears 

roadside  fence;  when  Opportunity,  pictured  as  a  semi-nude  figure 
with  whirling  draperies  and  feet  winged  as  Mercury's,  and  pro 
pelling  with  the  flying  feet  a  large  ball;  suddenly  sweeps  past 
the  startled  and  weary  youth,  and  passes  swiftly  beyond  him 
down  the  road.  Thus  conveying  to  the  observer,  the  distinct  and 
absolutely  false  idea,  that  Opportunity  is  something  that  must  be 
grasped  at  once  as  it  rolls  past  us,  or  our  life  is  hopelessly 
doomed  to  failure  and  defeat.  This  is  not  true.  For  all  the 
truly  great  characters  of  human  history,  are  those  men  and 
women  who  have  simply  lived  their  lives  truly,  openly,  and 
honestly,  as  they  followed  the  path  of  truth  and  duty  from  day 
to  day;  while  only  the  reverse  can  be  said  of  those  characters, 
familiarly  known  as  "Opportunists,"  who  have  followed  the 
doctrine  of  Opportunity,  which  is  as  false  as  hell,  and  he  who 
promulgates  it,  is  a  base  corrupter  of  truth  and  virtue. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        265 

and  contrary  opinions  of  the  members  of  that  body,  the 
one  man,  plain,  honest  old  Abe,  gave  the  slave  his  free 
dom.  No  opportunity  here,  but  just  a  plain  indisputable 
duty  placed  before  a  God-fearing,  honorable  man. 

No  St.  Helena  for  him. 

No  worship  of  the  false  god  Opportu  here. 

He  simply  did  his  duty,  as  all  other  true  men  must 
do.  He  simply  lived  up  to  the  dictates  of  his  pure  truth- 
loving  soul ;  a  simple  unwavering  integrity  developed  him 
into  a  glorious,  famous  man,  and  won  for  him  a  great 
nation's  eternal  thanks  and  a  martyr's  tomb.  The  French 
have  also  entombed  Napoleon  in  the  midst  of  their  gay 
capital.  Perhaps  to  them  it  is  a  shrine  of  Glory.  But  to 
all  truth-lovers,  however,  it  can  never  be  anything  but  a 
memorial  of  Error  rebuked  by  Truth.  Lincoln's  tomb, 
however,  is  a  shrine  of  Truth  enthroned  by  Error. 

Our  brave  young  Leiter,  he  of  the  redoubtable  "Record- 
Herald"  chin,  thought  Opportu  was  going  to  lead  him  to 
a  colossal  fortune  in  wheat;  but  instead,  it  led  him  to  a 
vast  failure. 

Oh !  This  doctrine  of  Opportu  seems  to  be  good,  until 
the  failure  is  acknowledged. 

And  then  what? 

Why  then,  it  surely  teaches  us  the  lesson,  to  simply 
follow  the  dictates  of  one's  own  honest,  God-fearing,  truth- 
seeking  soul;  and  it  will  lead  one  safe  and  honorably  to 
fame  and  fortune  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  modern  wise 
men  (?)  write  essays  and  poems  encouraging  the  wor 
ship  of  that  false  god,  Opportu. 

Why  scorn  the  patient,  plodding  pace  of  the  tortoise — 
DUTY;  if  it  wins  the  race  against  Opportunity? 


CHAPTER  VII 

Standish  signed  the  contract  and  mailed  it  to  Jonathan 
Strong.  It  was  to  take  effect  beginning  June  1,  1899,  and 
remain  in  force  four  years. 

One  morning  not  long  after,  as  Standish  and  his  wife 
were  eating  a  late  breakfast,  they  heard  a  knock  on  the 
door,  and  Fiorina  opened  it. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Brown ;  here's  a  message  for  the 
boss." 

Fiorina  recognized  the  speaker  as  the  railroad  agent, 
and  she  smiled  a  recognition.  After  signing  for  the  tele 
gram,  she  handed  the  receipt  book  to  the  agent  and  the 
message  to  Standish.  As  he  opened  it,  she  peeked  over  his 
shoulder,  and  this  is  what  she  read: 

"  Standish  Brown, 

"Plume,  Colo. 
"  Strong  has  sold  out  to  the  Trust.  ROSE." 

A  torrent  of  rage  filled  the  angry  mine  owner,  and  he 
fairly  choked  with  hot  indignation,  but  his  pretty  wife 
put  her  velvety  hand  over  his  mouth  and  placed  her  soft 
cheek  tightly  against  his.  Then,  as  her  lovely  hair  fell 
down  upon  his  bare  throat,  he  picked  up  a  lock  of  it 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  and  Fiorina  could  feel  his  face 
gradually  soften  into  a  smile. 

How  they  were  enjoying  their  honeymoon. 

As  Fiorina  poured  out  a  second  cup  of  coffee  for  her  lord, 
he  grew  serious  again,  his  face  twitching  convulsively  as 
was  his  habit  when  disturbed. 

"D d !"  he  ripped  out,  but  seeing  his  wife's 

threatening  look,  he  repressed  his  choler  and  gulped  down 
the  hot  coffee  ferociously. 

"Fiorina,  come  here,  little  one,"  he  said,  shoving  his 
chair  away  from  the  table.  She  went  to  him  and  got  up 
into  his  lap.  After  a  moment,  in  -whiVh  he  embraced 

267 


268         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

her  as  tho  she  were  the  one  solace  of  his  life,  he  said  softly, 

"My  darling  little  Fiorina,  you're  the  only  one  in  all 
the  world  that  I  can  trust.  Will  you  promise  never  to  go 
back  on  me?" 

She  nodded  her  head  as  it  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Well — then  promise,"  he  continued  playfully. 

She  reached  up  and  kissed  him,  saying  as  she  did  so, 
with  an  almost  childish  devotion. 

"Fiorina,  nefer,  nefer — go  back  on  Meester  Brown. 
Always  lofe  him — always."  And  this  was  the  manner  in 
which  Standish  and  his  child  wife  dismissed  for  the  mo 
ment  a  stern  affair  of  business. 

The  Denver  papers  soon  confirmed  the  message  of  John 
Charles.  The  American  Smelter  Co.,  thru  the  purchase 
of  the  Gilpin,  was  now  supreme  in  Colorado ;  and  Stand 
ish  Brown,  who  constituted  the  only  known  factor  of 
active  opposition,  was  inmeshed  in  its  web  for  at  least 
four  years. 

Standish  never  attempted  to  look  up  Jonathan  Strong 
again.  He  felt  that  his  temper  might  get  the  better  of 
him  and  cause  him  to  commit  an  assault  which  he  would 
afterwards  regret.  He  visited  John  Charles  in  Denver 
not  long  afterward  and  discussed  the  perfidy  of  the  Yan 
kee  and  also  the  possibility  of  evading  the  contract,  which 
discussion  left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  John  Charles  as  to 
what  he  might  expect  if  the  tall  mine  owner  ever  learned 
of  the  part  that  he  had  played  in  the  affair. 

The  perfidious  attorney,  who  had  long  since  congrat 
ulated  himself  upon  his  dexterity  in  completely  deceiving 
his  trusting  principal,  was  very  careful  to  point  out  the 
folly  of  attempting  to  break  the  contract,  and  Standish 
dismissed  the  subject  as  just  a  deplorable  incident  of 
human  weakness  and  a  thing  forever  closed. 

In  this  he  was  greatly  mistaken,  however,  for  a  few 
weeks  later  a  circumstance  occurred  that  gave  new  im 
petus,  and  quite  happily,  too,  a  fuller  and  nobler  meaning 
to  his  career. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Gus  Johnson  was  a  derelict.  A  liquor-soaked  hulk.  A 
booze  fighter  of  the  very  first  rank.  And  one  day  during 
a  temporary  recovery  of  his  mental  and  pedal  equilib 
rium,  he  stepped  into  the  office  of  John  Charles  Rose,  and 
asked  for  employment  on  the  strength  of  his  legal  knowl 
edge  and  professional  ability  as  an  all-around  office  man. 

Rose,  who  had  need  of  just  such  a  general  utility  man, 
made  a  close  bargain  with  the  fellow,  and  Johnson,  who 
managed  to  sober  up  for  a  few  days,  made  quite  an  im 
pression  upon  his  new  employer,  Rose  finding  him  pos 
sessed  of  quite  a  smattering  of  law  and  an  excellent  knowl 
edge  of  legal  forms,  such  as  deeds,  leases,  mortgages,  etc. ; 
for  Johnson  had  really  been  admitted  to  the  bar  some 
where  down  East,  but  drink  having  got  the  better  of  him, 
had  ruined  his  career. 

After  a  few  weeks,  however,  Rose  began  to  note  the 
bibulous,  blear-eyed  condition  of  his  protege,  and  he  pro 
ceeded  to  administer  a  severe  reprimand  to  him,  Johnson 
accepting  it  with  that  nonchalant,  long-expected-thank- 
you  demeanor  so  characteristic  of  the  habitual  drunkard; 
and  who,  as  soon  as  his  employer  left  the  office  to  fill  an 
engagement,  sneaked  to  the  nearest  saloon  to  bravely 
bolster  himself  up  for  a  spell  of  strict  abstinence. 

As  he  held  the  glass  in  his  shaking  hand,  he  said  to 
his  mistress,  Drink: 

"  Dear  old  pal,  you've  got  to  go  to  sleep  now.  There, 
that's  a  good  little  girl,  got  her  nighty  on,  and  papa  tucks 
her  into  her  snug  little  nest." 

Drink  did  go  to  sleep  for  a  few  minutes,  but  she  soon 
woke  up  again  more  insistent  than  ever,  and  the  drunkard 
was  forced  to  feed  her  as  before,  actually  managing  to 
hold  down  his  job  for  six  months,  to  then  be  discharged. 
But  that  was  just  four  months  longer  than  he  expected.  In 
fact,  he  had  wagered  with  Drink  every  day  for  the  last 

269 


270        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

six  weeks  of  his  stay,  that  the  next  day  would  be  his  last. 
Indeed,  she  thought  him  very  smooth  to  hang  on  as  long 
as  he  had,  and  they  accordingly  congratulated  themselves 
in  many  a  brimming  glass. 

As  Rose  handed  the  check  to  Johnson,  which  repre 
sented  the  balance  of  salary  due  him,  the  drunkard  left 
the  office  as  happy  as  a  lark. 

He  liked  a  change. 

Perverted,  liquor-soaked  genius.  A  capable  soul  se 
duced  by  drink.  He  had  long  lived  by  his  wits,  and  his 
little  wife  and  family  had  protestingly  followed  his  bibu- 
ulous  and  ever-declining  fortunes. 

Johnson  possessed  that  occasional  flash  of  genius 
which  is  often  encountered  among  certain  individuals  who 
steep  themselves,  not  only  in  liquor,  but  likewise  with 
morphine,  absinthe,  and  opium.  These  flashes  of  genius 
are  at  times  truly  dazzling  to  the  sober,  abstemious  man. 
But  they  are  generally  only  flashes  in  the  pan.  The 
divine  light  beams  out  in  royal  splendor  for  a  moment, 
and  then  quickly  dies  out  in  the  enervating  embrace  of  the 
deadly  intoxicant. 

As  he  left  Rose's  office,  Johnson  felt  that  he  had  in  his 
pocket  a  bunch  of  papers  that  would  secure  him  another 
will-o'-the-wisp  job.  And  the  next  morning  after  his  dis 
charge  he  cashed  his  salary  check  at  the  bank  and  took 
a  car  for  the  Union  Depot. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Plume?"  he  asked  of  the  ticket  agent. 

"  Fifty-nine  miles.  Next  train  at  3 :30  this  afternoon," 
was  the  sharp  reply. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  Johnson,  and  he  took  the  next  car 
for  home  to  leave  some  money  with  his  wife  and  to  pack 
his  valise. 

At  seven  that  evening  he  put  up  at  the  hotel  in  Plume, 
and  the  next  morning  visited  the  tunnel  of  the  40  Rounds. 
Standish  did  not  arrive  until  nearly  noon,  and  Johnson 
loafed  at  the  boiler  house  until  that  time,  exchanging  an 
ecdotes  with  the  fireman  between  goodly  nips  at  a  bottle 
of  "Old  Crow,"  which  Johnson  had  no  difficulty  in  pro 
ducing  the  instant  he  found  that  the  fireman  was  sus 
ceptible. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        271 

"Is  this  Mr.  Brown?"  ho  said  boldly,  as  Standish  ap 
peared  and  had  chatted  a  moment  with  the  fireman. 

"  Yes,  sir,  what  can  I  dp  for  you?"  replied  Standish. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  would  like  to  speak  with  you  privately. 
Um — important  business,"  said  the  drunkard,  drawing 
himself  up  with  a  brave  air  of  importance  and  a  grand 
stand  swagger. 

"  Very  well,  sir,  step  into  the  tunnel  with  me.  I  have 
a  place  in  there  that  will  certainly  do,"  said  the  mine 
owner,  laughing  to  himself  as  he  viewed  the  half-hearted 
attempt  of  the  booze  fighter  to  impress  him  with  great 
seriousness. 

A  great  change  had  taken  place  in  the  tunnel  since 
Standish  had  first  driven  it  to  the  lode  of  the  40  Rounds. 
It  was  now  extended  to  twice  its  former  width,  allowing 
the  use  of  a  double  track.  A  complete  electrical  equip 
ment  had  been  substituted  for  steam  power,  and  the  tun 
nel  was  brilliantly  illuminated  with  incandescent  lamps 
thruout  its  entire  length.  An  electric  tram  was  in  opera 
tion.  Electric  drills  had  also  been  substituted  for  the  old 
air  drills,  and  the  great  property  was  a  model  of  modern 
mining  equipment. 

When  they  reached  the  old  hoist  chamber,  which  itself 
had  been  transformed  into  a  commodious,  brilliantly 
lighted,  well  ventilated  office,  tool  depository  and  work 
shop,  Standish  offered  Johnson  a  chair  and  seated  himself 
in  another. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  inquired  the  mine  owner  sharply. 

In  reply  to  his  abrupt  question,  Johnson  took  from  his 
inside  coat  pocket  a  bundle  of  tissue  and  typewritten  let 
ters,  and  silently  handing  them  to  Standish,  fished  out 
a  two-for-a-nickel  cigar,  and  lighting  it,  calmly  smoked  it 
while  the  miner  perused  the  papers. 

As  Standish  slowly  read  the  papers  and  examined  the 
tissues  in  the  order  they  were  placed,  his  face  gradually 
grew  stern,  and  finally  flamed  with  anger.  When  he 
finished,  he  looked  up  at  his  visitor  and  said  sternly, 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?" 

In  reply,  Johnson  proceeded  to  relate  his  connection 
with  the  papers,  and  also  weaving  in  an  account  of  his 


272         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

own  falling  fortunes  with  all  the  skill  of  a  professional 
dead-beater;  every  sentence  being  carefully  framed  to 
produce  a  penniless,  much-abused,  God-forsaken  effect, 
that  would  perhaps  enable  him  to  win  a  benefice  from  his 
listener.  It  was  an  old  game  with  the  drunkard,  whom 
drink  had  endowed  with  almost  superhuman  cunning, 
even  to  the  verge  of  causing  him  to  commit  blackmail 
upon  a  petty  scale,  in  order  to  bolster  up  his  fortunes. 

Standish  was  not  much  deceived  by  his  artifices,  how 
ever,  and  easily  saw  thru  the  time-worn  devices  of  a  man 
who  has  lived  on  the  wit-crust  for  many  years. 

But  the  letters  and  the  tissues? 

They  surely  told  the  tale  of  John  Charles  Rose's  utter 
perfidy.  For  the  papers  submitted  by  the  drunkard  were 
in  part  the  original  and  in  part  the  tissue  copies  of  the 
correspondence  between  the  Smelter  Trust's  attorney  and 
John  Charles  Rose,  relative  to  those  details  of  the  Brown- 
Strong  contract  which  had  been  overlooked  in  their  per 
sonal  interviews,  Johnson  having  boldly  pilfered  them 
from  Rose's  files  for  the  express  purpose  of  finding,  if  not 
a  new  employer,  at  least  remuneration  of  some  sort. 

Among  the  papers  Johnson  had  cunningly  inserted  a 
tissue  copy  of  the  telegram  by  which  the  treacherous  attor 
ney  had  informed  Standish  of  Strong's  sale  of  the  Gilpin. 
The  sight  of  it  was  a  fitting  climax  to  the  entire  perfidious 
transaction,  and  Standish  fairly  boiled  with  suppressed 
anger. 

"So  you  want  a  job,  do  you,  Johnson?"  he  said  after 
a  few  moments. 

The  drunkard  nodded  his  head  eagerly. 

"  Well,  this  piece  of  business  is  a  darn  poor  recommend 
for  you  or  anyone  else.  But  it  seems  to  be  a  straight  deal, 
all  right.  Say,  Johnson,  I  think,  yes  —  darned  if  I  don't 
feel  that  I  am  the  biggest  sucker  in  the  whole  state  of 
Colorado.  Nothin'  but  just  soft,  mealy,  mushy  mush.  A 
downright  pastepot.  By  all  the  tin  gods,  Johnson,  I  ought 
to  change  my  name  and  begin  life  over  again.  Really 
I  am  the  easiest  mark  in  the  whole  U.  S.  A.  And  blame 
me,"  he  added  musingly,  "I  always  have  been  —  and  ex 
pect  I  always  will  be." 


VTHE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         273 

The  result  of  this  interview  was,  that  the  drunkard  re 
turned  to  Denver  the  next  day  and  loafed  from  that  time 
until  the  first  of  the  following  year,  when  he  was  called 
to  Plume  to  keep  Standish's  books. 

On  the  first  of  each  month  he  received  a  check  from  the 
mine  owner,  which  not  only  supported  his  family  with 
ease,  but  also  afforded  him  a  glorious  outlay  for  booze. 
Tt  was  the  greatest  snap  of  his  life.  One  continual  jag 
from  June  until  the  following  January.  He  was  on  a  par 
with  that  happy  African  "who  went  up  in  January  and 
didn't  get  down  till  June." 


CHAPTER  IX 

Standish  waited  until  January  first  of  the  new  year 
of  1900  before  he  "called"  the  enterprising  John  Charles. 

He  had  studied  the  situation  very  carefully.  The  proof 
of  the  attorney's  perfidy  was  absolute.  It  could  not  be 
successfully  refuted.  Both  the  tissue  copies  and  the  letters 
displayed  the  signatures  of  the  correspondents,  and  Stand 
ish  recognized  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt  the  well  known 
signature  of  his  attorney. 

Several  weeks  after  Johnson's  expose,  the  mine  owner 
noticed  the  account  of  a  lawsuit  published  in  the  Denver 
papers,  in  which  John  Charles  Rose's  name  appeared  as 
counsel  for  the  American  Smelter  Co.  The  evidence 
was  complete.  He  had  been  sold,  deliberately  betrayed, 
by  a  man  to  whom  he  paid  a  handsome  salary  to  protect 
his  interests. 

The  mine  owner  thought  long  and  carefully  over  the 
manner  in  which  he  should  sever  his  connections  with  the 
traitor.  If  he  should  suddenly  withdraw  his  business  in 
the  middle  of  the  year,  the  fellow  might  engulf  him  in  a 
mess  of  litigation  which  might  last  him  the  balance  of 
his  life.  No.  He  would  patiently  wait  until  they  made 
the  usual  settlement  the  first  of  the  year.  Then  he  would 
get  personal  possession  of  all  his  effects,  obtain  the  attor 
ney's  receipt  in  full  for  all  services  rendered,  which  was 
the  Colonel's  old  established  custom,  and  then  he  would 
"call"  him  good  and  hard. 

With  scrupulous  care  the  attorney  had  prepared  this 
first  annual  settlement,  politely  ushering  his  principal 
into  his  private  office ;  where,  placed  upon  the  office  table, 
was  the  entire  list  of  his  principal's  securities  and  invest 
ments  neatly  tied  up  and  catalogued,  making  up  several 
formidable  bundles  of  bonds,  stocks,  deeds,  mortgages,  etc. 

The  attorney  had  also  made  out  a  receipt  in  full  for  his 

275 


276        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

services  to  date,  and  had  pinned  it  to  an  unsigned  check 
with  the  correct  figures  filled  in,  that  would  balance  his 
account  against  the  estate  for  the  past  year. 

Standish  examined  every  detail  of  the  account  with 
anxious  care.  He  checked  off  and  inspected  the  blocks 
of  investments  and  securities  to  the  minutest  detail,  for  he 
felt  that  the  omission  of  any  of  his  holdings  would  be 
fatal  to  the  full  amount  which  the  paper  represented.  He 
did  not  care  so  much  about  the  money,  but  he  dreaded 
the  thought  that  this  traitorous  wretch  of  an  attorney 
might  rub  in  his  treachery  in  some  other  and  as  yet  un 
known  manner.  But  gradually  as  he  checked  up  the 
various  items,  his  choler  rose  to  the  bursting  point,  to  all 
of  which  John  Charles  was  wholly  oblivious,  as,  seated 
at  his  desk  reading  his  paper,  he  complacently  smoked 
his  cigar. 

Finally,  Standish  succeeded  in  checking  up  everything, 
and  picked  up  the  receipt  with  the  unsigned  check  at 
tached.  Unpinning  the  two  papers,  and  signing  the 
check,  he  thrust  the  receipt  into  his  pocket,  leaving  the 
check  upon  the  table.  Then  going  quickly  to  the  um 
brella  case  near  the  door,  he  picked  up  a  large  leather  grip 
which  he  had  quietly  placed  there  upon  his  entrance. 
Bringing  it  to  the  table,  he  began  putting  into  it  the  vari 
ous  bundles  and  packages  of  securities. 

Rose,  who  had  patiently  waited  all  this  time,  manifested 
evident  alarm  at  this  wholly  unexpected  and  unwonted 
action  of  his  principal ;  and,  quickly  rising  from  his  chair 
with  his  features  expressing  the  utmost  astonishment  and 
trepidation,  he  stepped  forward  protestingly. 

Standish,  who  was  only  half  thru  stowing  away  his 
valuables,  looked  up.  The  sight  of  the  perfidious  wretch 
maddened  him. 

"John  Rose,"  he  said  in  a  fierce,  threatening  manner 
which  brooked  no  interference,  "you  stay  where  you  are, 
or  confound  your  contemptible,  traitorous  heart,  I'll  break 
every  bone  in  your  body." 

And  as  the  tall  form  of  the  miner  stood  between  him 
and  the  door,  the  trembling  attorney  could  only  wait  until 
the  packing  process  was  finished.  Then  his  erstwhile 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        277 

principal,  picking  up  the  huge  valise  and  giving  a  last 
sweeping  glance  at  the  table,  walked  out  of  the  room  with 
out  a  word. 

Late  that  afternoon  Standish  was  visited  at  his  hotel  by 
Colonel  Rose.  The  white-haired  old  veteran  was  quite 
visibly  agitated  as  Standish  entered  the  parlor. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  G is  the  matter  with  you, 

Standish?"  he  said  as  they  shook  hands;  "  Got  another  fit 
on?"  he  added  reproachfully  as  they  sat  down,  recalling 
the  mysterioug  disappearance  of  his  tall  friend  several 
years  previous. 

Standish  told  him  everything,  and  produced  the  evi 
dence,  which  the  Colonel  inspected  closely.  The  old  gen 
tleman  remained  strangely  silent  for  a  long  time  after  he 
handed  the  papers  back ;  then  he  spoke. 

"My  boy,  you  are  right.  You  are  fully  justified.  I 
don't  see  how  you  could  have  done  anything  different, 
except — I'm  afraid  if  it  had  been  me,  I'd  have  given  the 
cuss  a  d d  good  licking." 


BOOK  TWO 

THE  SUCCESSORS    OF  W.  W.  W. 


CHAPTER   I 

"  Blow  the  fife  slowly 
And  beat  the  drum  softly, 
As  we  carry  the  young  cowboy 
Away  to  his  grave." 

Thus  goes  an  old  ballad  of  the  cow-range. 

As  the  closing  years  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  filled  the 
American  stage  with  its  brilliant  company,  there  was  one 
lone  figure  among  the  swift  moving  throng  of  the  nation's 
illustrious,  who  moved  with  the  uncertain  painful  foot 
steps  of  decrepit  old  age. 

From  time  to  time  he  exchanged  greetings  with  some  of 
the  elder  members  of  the  merry  throng,  but  with  the 
young,  the  boisterous,  the  newer  generation  of  the  Great 
Republic,  he  was  passed  by  almost  unnoticed  and  un- 
greeted. 

It  was  WILD  WOOLLY  WEST!* 

Lean,  decrepit,  old  Wild  Woolly  West,  is  passing  away. 

From  out  the  vast  abyss  of  the  long  past  centuries 
comes  the  grim  reaper.  He  of  the  thousand  leagued  beard, 
Father  Time. 

As  he  does  so,  he  holds  back  the  last  curtain  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century  for  us  to  take  one  farewell  glance  at 
our  departing,  but  dearly  beloved  Wild  Woolly  West. 

Once  the  most  brilliant  figure  of  the  Great  Plains  and 
the  vast  recesses  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  Wild  Woolly 
West's  day  is  over  and  he  sinks  into  the  abysmal  night 

*NOTE. — The   following  editorial  from   the   "Denver  Republi 
can"  of  January  27,   1903,  explains  itself. 

"What    has    become    of    the    'wild   West?'"    asks    the    Chicago 

279 


280         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  the  ages,  while  the  poor  vain  imitators  of  his  departed 
glories  do  their  pitiful  stunts  under  the  white  tented  can 
vas  of  the  circus,  together  with  those  of  the  passing  red- 
man  and  the  dying  buffalo. 

The  scout,  the  trapper,  the  Indian,  the  pony  express 
man,  the  cowboy,  the  pan  miner,  and  the  cattle  rustler, 
all  stand  upon  the  stage  of  the  Nineteenth  Century  for 
their  last  curtain. 

But  the  fierce,  demonstrative,  impatient  audience  of  the 
Twentieth  Century  will  not  allow  even  the  graceful  chiv- 
alric  bow,  nor  the  prolonged  exit  of  these  heroes  of  the 
old  West. 

This  new  and  hurtling  generation,  like  the  unsatisfied 
and  ennui-crammed  Romans  of  old,  demand  the  new  play, 
new  actors,  new  thrills,  and  the  long  prepared  delights 
of  the  new  century. 

So  back,  back,  we  of  the  brimming  tears,  gently  push 
our  dear  old  Wild  Woolly  West.  Back,  back,  into  the 
shadow  land  of  Has  Been. 


Tribune.     "Wyoming  is  wearing  store  clothes  and  Colorado  is  a 
state  of  farmers." 

The  Tribune's  question  has  been  asked  in  so  many  ways  and 
by  so  many  people  that  the  West  has  become  somewhat  tired  of 
answering  it.  In  the  course  of  time  it  becomes  wearying  to  keep 
on  assuring  curious  Easterners  that  there  is  no  "wild  West,"  and 
that,  in  fact,  the  woolly  place  of  fiction  is  nine-tenths  imagination. 

Some  day  the  East  will  wake  up  to  the  fact  that  the  region 
west  of  the  Missouri  is  possessed  of  a  higher  and  more  assimila 
tive  type  of  civilization  than  many  of  the  narrow,  rock-bottomed 
and  hide-bound  communities  of  New  England.  But  the  process  will 
be  slow.  Probably  the  novelist  and  the  artist  will  be  the  last 
ones  to  succumb.  The  novelist  still  insists  that  there  is  a  "wild 
West."  He  takes  a  couple  of  weeks  off  and  travels  from  Omaha 
to  San  Francisco,  and  the  fact  that  he  doesn't  see  anything  wild 
does  not  discourage  him.  He  goes  home  and  calls  his  imagination 
into  play,  and  introduces  boisterous  cowboys  and  all  the  other 
conventional  characters  of  the  so-called  Western  school  of  fiction. 
These  characters,  as  they  are  painted  in  novels,  do  not  exist  in 
the  West.  Oldtimers  say  they  never  did.  But  the  novelist  knows 
that  they  ought  to  be  there,  and  his  editors  pay  him  good  rates 
for  his  stuff  and  write  glowing  advertisements  about  its  fidelity 
to  nature.  And  then  the  artist  never  allows  reality  to  influence 
his  ideals.  If  he  draws  a  cowboy  he  never  shows  the  rather 
meek  looking  hired  man  who  officiates  on  the  average  Western 
ranch.  He  puts  on  all  the  picturesque  accessories,  from  shaps 
to  sombrero,  and  the  editors  are  pleased  again. 

So  if  the  Chicago  Tribune  really  wants  to  know  what  has 
become  of  the  "wild  West,"  it  should  not  look  any  further  than 
between  the  covers  of  novels  or  magazines.  The  "wild  West"  is 
there,  and  it  has  been  nowhere  else  for  years." 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         281 

Back  with  Coxey's  Army,  with  the  Carpet-baggers,  the 
Copperheads,  the  Boys  of  '61. 

Back  with  the  '49ers,  with  the  "Old  South  befoh  de 
wah." 

Back  with  the  Whigs  and  the  Federalists,  with  the  Min 
ute-men  and  Paul  Jones'  immortal  crew. 

Back  with  the  Puritans  and  the  Knickerbockers. 

Back  with  the  dauntless  Columbus,  and  the  brilliant 
court  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 

Back  with  the  Crusaders  and  the  intrepid  Cceur  de  Lion. 

Back  with  imperial  Csesar  and  the  grim  legions  of 
Rome. 

Yea!  Back,  away  back  to  the  days  of  ancient  Greece, 
with  Hector  of  Troy  and  the  mighty  Ulysses. 

Back,  back,  with  the  inspired  warriors  of  Israel,  with 
wonder-working  Moses  and  the  sun-compelling  Joshua. 

And  back.  Ah!  Far,  far  back,  to  the  first  man  who 
ever  lived,  and  contributed  his  sinew,  bone,  and  thin  in 
tellect  to  found  the  first  chronicles  of  human  history. 

Pathetic  you  stand  there,  Wild  Woolly  West,  with  your 
deep  stooped  shoulders  and  your  emaciated  form  accou- 
tcred  with  all  the  gay  trappings  and  ornaments  of  the  vir 
gin  West. 

Your  face  is  bronzed  by  the  fierce  glare  of  the  Arizona 
sun;  your  beard  is  bleached  by  the  cold  belching  snows 
of  Wyoming;  your  brow  is  furrowed  by  the  hot  grinding 
sands  of  the  Dakotas. 

Your  hands  are  twisted  and  crabbed  by  the  constant 
fling  of  the  lasso,  the  sharp  pull  of  the  reins,  the  quick 
pump  of  the  trigger. 

Your  legs  are  crooked  and  bent  from  the  longs  days 
and  weary  nights  spent  in  the  wild  careening  saddle ;  and 
your  poor  old  body  is  wrenched  and  racked  from  the  sav 
age  kill- strain  of  the  stampede  and  the  deadly  chill  of 
the  death-breathing  "no'wester." 

So  back,  back,  far  back  into  the  deep  caverns  of  unend 
ing  Time  for  you,  Wild  Woolly  West.  But  fear  not,  old 
pard,  you,  too,  are  immortal. 

Your  record  is  written  with  your  hot  blood  spurting 
crimson  over  the  brown  Nebraska  prairies,  and  sinking 


282        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

scarlet  into  the  white  alkali  sands  of  the  Great  American 
Desert. 

You  have  been  carved  in  marble,  Wild  Woolly  West. 
You  have  been  cast  in  bronze.  You  have  been  painted  on 
canvas,  and  -been  branded  on  America's  mighty  heart  with 
the  hot  searing  brands  of  your  cherished  and  precious 
memory. 

So  back,  back,  bully  old  Wild  Woolly  West.  Back 
into  the  tender  realm  of  shadow,  forever  to  dream  the 
fleeting  centuries  away,  to  be  greeted  again  on  the  Judg 
ment  Day. 

Away  then,  ye  vapory  forms  of  the  old  passing  West. 
Good-bye,  forever,  dear  Wild  Woolly  West. 

Hush!  The  curtain  cords  are  loosed.  The  curtain 
falls. 

A  thunderous  shout  breaks  forth  from  the  younger  gen 
eration  of  the  newer,  the  modern,  and,  let  us  hope — the 
better  West. 

"Bring  on  the  NEW,"  is  the  insistent  cry  from  the 
Missouri  to  the  Arkansas. 

Again  the  curtain  rises  upon  the  eternal  stage  of  Time. 

Behold!    The  new,  the  virgin,  the  Twentieth  Century. 

Upon  the  stage  and  eager  to  do  their  brief  turn,  is  a 
mad  rushing  crew,  the  successors  of  Wild  Woolly  West, 
who  will  write  immortal  deeds  with  their  red  blood  upon 
the  white  pages  of  human  history  as  he  has  done. 

In  the  spring  of  1900,  Fiorina  was  approaching  her 
first  accouchement.  Standish  watched  his  beautiful  child 
wife  very  closely,  neglecting  his  business  many  times  in 
order  to  be  near  her. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  Fiorina  seemed  to  be  con 
scious  of  another  world.  A  magic,  a  wonderful  region 
that  lay  just  outside,  and  yet  close  within,  the  little  life 
of  Plume. 

It  was  a  soul  world ! 

A  world  in  which  the  lips  of  angels  and  the  voice 
of  her  unborn  babe  whispered  into  her  listening  ears. 

Her  dark  eyes  were  filled  with  the  beams  of  a  trans 
cendent  light,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  complete  soul 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         283 

consciousness  of  a  great  mysterious  realm  which  existed 
somewhere  in  the  breast  of  the  eternal  God. 

It  seemed  to  Standish  that  this  beautiful  maiden  wife 
of  his  was  drinking  the  divine  waters  of  some  celestial 
fountain.  She  appeared  to  have  exchanged  flesh  for 
spirit;  her  soul  was  wrapped  in  wondrous  dreams.  For 
the  first  time  also,  the  anxious  husband  detected  unmis 
takable  signs  that  his  wife  was  oppressed  by  the  wild 
bleakness  and  smothering  monotony  of  the  vast  moun 
tain  crags  that  shut  in  the  tiny  life  of  Plume.  It  worried 
him  considerably,  for  he  wished  above  all  things,  to  sur 
round  her  at  the  critical  period  of  her  pregnancy  with  an 
environment  that  would  please  and  attract  her,  and  afford 
her  an  enjoyment  that  would  detract  from  any  serious 
or  prolonged  thought  of  her  approaching  motherhood. 

This  subject,  in  connection  with  the  active  management 
of  his  estate  which  he  had  assumed  at  the  discharge  of 
his  business  agent,  convinced  him  that  it  would  be  a  good 
idea  to  move  his  little  family  to  Denver. 

In  addition  to  the  intense  anxiety  which  he  manifested 
in  his  wife's  delicate  condition,  he  began  to  realize  the 
truly  precarious  existence  of  living  in  a  mountain  village 
like  Plume,  forever  threatened  as  it  was  by  the  falling  of 
one  of  those  scores  of  crags  which  hung  fearfully  and 
menacingly  above  the  tiny  village.  Then  there  was  the 
eternal  danger  of  snow-slides  during  the  long  winters ;  the 
ever  possible  flood  of  the  creek  as  some  overloaded  cloud 
poured  its  cisterns  in  the  pent  up  reaches  of  the  gulch; 
and  the  ever  present  and  endless  hauling  of  the  heavy 
mountain  ore  wagons  and  carts  loaded  to  the  brim  with 
death-dealing  powder  and  dynamite. 

And,  too,  as  his  heart  embedded  itself  deeper  and  deeper 
in  the  bosom  of  his  little  family,  all  these  dangers  of  the 
hemmed-in  mountain  life  became  greatly  magnified  in  his 
mind,  so  he  fully  determined  to  tale  up  a  permanent  resi 
dence  in  the  more  secure  and  attractive  life  of  the  city. 

His  interests  by  this  time  had  grown  enormously.  It 
kept  Johnson,  who  looked  after  his  books,  and  the  sten 
ographer,  whom  he  employed  in  his  cottage  office,  busy 
from  morning  till  night,  attending  to  the  correspondence 


284        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

entailed  by  his  large  financial  holdings.  If  he  moved  to 
Denver  he  could  take  up  business  quarters  in  some  large 
modern  office  building,  where  he  could  manage  his  in 
terests  with  much  greater  ease  and  convenience. 

As  the  result  he  visited  the  city  and  rented  a  com- 
modius  residence  in  the  "Capitol  Hill"  region  of  the  city, 
that  portion  of  Denver  in  which  the  elite  of  the  mountain 
metropolis  have  built  hundreds  of  palatial  homes.  He 
also  engaged  a  fine  suite  of  offices  on  the  top  floor  of 
the  "Insurance"  building,  a  magnificent  modern  office 
structure. 

Acting  upon  the  advice  of  his  old  foreman,  Nelson,  he 
looked  up  Nelson's  daughter  who  was  living  in  the  city 
and  who  was  married  to  a  carpenter.  He  was  fortunate 
enough  to  secure  the  services  of  both  husband  and  wife, 
the  wife  as  housekeeper  and  the  husband  as  caretaker 
of  the  premises,  and  whom  he  lodged  in  permanent  quar 
ters  in  the  house.  This  excellent  pair  assisted  him  in  com 
pletely  furnishing  the  house,  and  after  several  trips  to 
the  city,  Standish  prepared  to  take  Fiorina  and  Ferrari 
to  their  new  home. 

As  Standish  viewed  the  joyous  and  happy  expectant 
countenance  of  Fiorina  at  the  thought  of  her  new  home, 
he  felt  that  he  had  made  no  mistake,  especially  as  Fer 
rari  had  fully  approved  of  the  change.  Fiorina  did,  in 
deed,  shed  a  few  tears  as  she  said  good-bye  to  the  old 
home  and  her  neighbors,  but  without  a  doubt  her  inno 
cent  heart  was  set  upon  the  charms  of  the  metropolis. 

As  the  steel  wheels  of  the  train  ground  dismally  upon 
the  rails  in  the  twist  of  the  sharp  curves  as  the  train 
made  the  steep  descent  into  Joetown,  Standish  and  she 
stood  upon  the  rear  platform.  The  gleaming  tip  of  the 
great  peak  from  which  the  little  town  took  its  name,  was 
visible  at  the  far  end  of  the  gulch,  tossing  its  proud  snowy 
plume  high  into  the  serene  blue  vault  of  heaven.  Soon 
the  outlines  of  their  tiny  cottage  was  lost  in  the  grim 
shadow  of  the  Great  Hills,  and  as  it  finally  disappeared 
with  all  its  tender  memories,  the  two  clutched  each  other 
instinctively.  Presently  Fiorina  looked  up  at  her  tall 
spouse  with  her  eyes  suffused  with  tears  and  pressed  her 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        285 

lips  to  his,  and  nestled  in  his  arms  while  the  train  des 
cended  the  long  steep  grade  to  the  bottom  of  the  gulch 
where  Joetown  lay. 

As  they  entered  the  town  she  recovered  herself,  and 
soon  her  eyes  began  to  beam  and  sparkle  in  the  keen  en 
joyment  of  the  change  of  scene.  By  the  time  they  reached 
Denver  she  was  fairly  radiant,  and  fully  enthused  with 
the  gay  bustling  life  which  animated  the  streets  and 
boulevards  of  the  great  teeming  town. 


CHAPTER  II 

Where  two  shallow  streams  unite  their  clear  waters  in 
the  lap  of  a  vast  and  sandy  plain.  Does  that  promise 
the  site  of  a  city?  Does  that  promise  beautiful  Denver? 

A  great  misty  swamp  with  a  sluggish  stream  flowing 
silently  through  its  center  into  a  broad  lake.  Does  that 
promise  the  mighty  Chicago? 

A  high  hill,  covered  with  a  dense  towering  forest  reach 
ing  down  its  virgin  slopes  to  mingle  with  long  stretches 
of  slimy  tide  flats.  Does  that  promise  thrifty  and  popu 
lous  Seattle? 

A  quaking  quagmire  beside  a  wide  river.  Does  that 
promise  solid,  rock-girded,  granite-embedded,  massive,  St. 
Petersburg? 

No! 

Surely  such  unseemly  places  do  not  promise  the  site 
of  great  and  beautiful  cities. 

What,  then,  does  constitute  the  creative  force  of  a  great 
city? 

Surely  not  the  poor  desolation  of  unpromising  land 
scapes,  nor  the  prospect  of  finding  great  wealth  or  estab 
lishing  commerce  upon  bleak  forbidding  shores. 

No!  Not  upon  such  barren  prospects  are  great  cities 
builded. 

But  just  as  the  arts  were  founded,  the  trades,  the 
sciences,  and  all  other  of  man's  creditable  creations,  great 
cities  are  but  the  material  weldings  and  fashionings  of 
man's  high-soaring,  imperious — thought. 

Airy,  dancing  thoughts,  thus  fashioned  into  permanent 
masses  of  rock  and  steel,  forming  the  mighty  enduring 
foundations  of  teeming  towns. 

Great  Peter  merely  wanted  a  window  to  look  out  upon 
the  Baltic,  from  which  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  affairs  of  the 
world.  His  imperious  thought,  therefore,  decreed  St. 
Petersburg,  and  his  heroic  Russians  dug  out  the  slime- 

287 


288        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

reeking  swamps  of  the  Neva,  almost  with  their  bare  hands, 
and  replaced  them  with  crags  of  shining  Finnish  granite. 
One  hundred  thousand  of  the  poor  wretches  perished  in 
the  building  of  this  world-window  of  Peter's.  But  what's 
to  a  czar?  The  city  was  built,  and  within  its  walls  now 
rise  the  brooding  palaces  of  the  absolute  Romanoffs. 

Mighty  St.  Petersburg!  Ha!  Only  an  emperor's 
thought  wrought  out  in  imperishable  granite. 

A  Washington  pioneer  once  said  to  a  comrade, 

"I  have  seen  the  vision  of  a  great  city  which  shall 
rise,  even  here,  upon  the  tide  flats  and  fir-covered  shores 
of  Elliott's  Bay." 

Verily,  his  pregnant  thought — yea,  even  tho  the  envious 
millions  of  Tacoma  and  the  Northern  Pacific  were  turned 
against  the  weakling — gave  birth  to  Seattle,  the  lusty 
giant  of  Puget  Sound. 

Thus,  too,  great,  surging,  deed-compelling  thoughts 
filled  the  souls  of  the  first  trappers  who  lived  beside  the 
limpid  waters  of  the  Chicago.  A  military  post  followed 
the  trappers.  Then  a  massacre,  with  later  the  grim  sur 
vivors  returning  undaunted  to  the  same  forbidding  spot, 
and  reaching  their  swift  thoughts  far  out  over  the  brood 
ing  waters  of  Michigan.  Then  the  trader,  and  it  was  his 
conquering,  resistless  thought  at  last,  which  created  the 
mistress  of  the  West,  the  undaunted  glorious  triple-barred 
virgin,  "I  Will." 

And  so,  in  a  minor  chord,  with  Denver. 

Thought!  The  supreme  force  of  man,  the  soul  power 
irresistible,  voiced  its  decree,  and  the  Queen  City  of 
mighty  mountains  and  wide-spreading  plains,  arose  at  the 
insignificant  junction  of  the  shallow  Platte  and  sand-sub 
merged  Cherry. 

DENVER! 

A  city  of  Destiny !  Ripe  with  Promise !  Flushed  with 
the  quick  up  springing  sources  of  Power! 

Denver,  the  beautiful,  the  superb! 

Here  is  no  ebbing  and  flowing  of  putrid  ocean  tides  over 
wide  reeking  flats  of  offal  and  slime,  depositing  their  foul 
effluvia  into  the  crevices  of  wharf  and  pier  to  breed  pesti 
lence  and  plague;  or  the  sluggish  flow  of  slow  meander- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        289 

ing  rivers  filled  with  the  sewage  and  drain  of  exuding  mil 
lions. 

No !  Such  is  not  the  environment  of  the  Western  Queen ! 

But  instead!  The  glorious  high  rolling  billows  of  the 
Great  Plains,  reaching  grandly  upward  toward  the  snowy 
breasts  of  peerless  mountains. 

Denver!  Reclining  in  the  roof  garden  of  America. 
Serene!  Lofty!  Fixed  as  a  hanging  garden  aloft  in  the 
sheer  and  melting  blue. 

Denver!  Set  superb  and  solitary  upon  the  Western 
plains,  forever  looking  askance  of  the  ramparts  of  Ser 
enity  gleaming  lustrous  in  the  golden  shafts  of  setting 
suns. 

An  hour's  "walk  to  the  east,  are  the  desolate  sands  and 
solitudes  of  the  Great  American  Des*ert. 

An  hour's  walk  to  the  west,  are  the  silent  pine-cloistered 
recesses  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Like  Jerusalem  and  Damascus,  the  jewels  of  the  orient, 
Denver  bursts  upon  the  weary  pilgrim  from  an  ocean  of 
bleakness,  a  thing  of  rare  and  radiant  beauty.  A  lustrous 
pearl  shining  upon  the  bosom  of  solitude,  her  tapering 
spires  and  domes  glittering  in  the  rising  and  setting  beams 
of  the  sun  as  flashing  spear  points  of  flaming  stars. 

In  the  heat  of  summer,  the  white  snow  peaks  waft  down 
their  cool  pine-scented  breezes  upon  a  grateful  people.  In 
winter,  their  towering  ramparts  serve  to  break  the  fierce 
charge  of  the  arctic  legions  as  they  sweep  down  the  con 
tinent  from  Assiniboine,  Medicine  Hat,  Swift  Current,  and 
frigid  Qu'Appelle. 

Ah!  Richard  Harding  Davis,  recline  in  your  snug 
dove  cote  beside  the  storm  swept  Atlantic  "in  little  old 
New  York,"  content  with  your  hasty  car  window  inspec 
tion  of  the  West;  but  good  Richard,  citizens  of  Colorado 
who  dwell  in  the  roof  garden  of  that  Continental  man 
sion  where  you  cling  to  its  gutters,  are  quite  content ;  and 
prefer  "the  great  white  way;"  that  is  a  truly,  a  great,  an 
incomparable,  a  soul-inspiring,  a  pure  and  immaculate 
WHITE  WAY — Colorado's  shining,  gleaming  mountains 
of  eternal  snow,  reflecting  the  phosphorescent  wavelets 
of  the  massy  twin  streams  of  the  Milky  Way. 


290        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

As  this  genial  friend  from  the  effete  East  thinks  that 
the  West  is  such  a  good  place  to  visit,  it  would  be  pleasant 
to  have  him  here  again  with  his  merry  company,  and  he 
will  be  shown  something  besides  "electric  push  buttons" 
at  the  Denver  Club. 

Ferrari  sat  upon  the  steps  of  the  south  veranda  in  the 
warm  sunlight  of  the  early  afternoon.  In  his  arms  he 
held  a  bundle  of  fleece  and  wool.  Inside  of  which  some 
thing  squirmed  and  twisted  from  time  to  time,  and  as  the 
old  man  peered  into  the  depths  of  the  downy  mass,  two 
little  red  hands  reached  upward  toward  his  smiling  face. 

Ferrari  was  a  great  grandfather.  He  was  holding  Fi 
orina's  baby  while  sjie  and  Standish  were  at  lunch.  There 
was  a  world  of  sentiment  in  the  old  Italian's  soul.  What 
a  glorious  land  was  this  United  States  of  America! 

True,  he  often  sighed  for  the  sunny  slopes  of  his  Italy, 
but  here,  sharing  the  joy  of  his  grandchild,  and  holding 
in  his  arms  the  precious  thing  which  proclaimed  him  a 
great  grandfather,  his  native  land  was  almost  forgotten. 
He  felt  a  rare  richness  of  years  in  his  soul.  The  noble 
patriarchal  glory  of  white  hairs.  He  had  tilled  the  soil 
of  life  with  all  the  strength  of  his  body,  aided  by  what 
soul  light  he  had  been  dispensated  from  his  Maker.  Thus 
he  was  supremely  content,  and  as  he  smiled  down  into 
the  cherub's  face  his  dark  eyes  moistened  in  the  flow  of 
his  tender  thought. 

Presently  the  happy  parents  appeared.  The  question  of 
naming  the  baby  had  not  yet  been  settled.  Had  it  been  a 
girl,  there  would  have  been  no  argument,  as  it  would 
have  borne  the  name  of  its  mother;  but  being  a  boy,  the 
parents  playfully  disputed  the  name  between  their  love 
feasts. 

Fiorina  insisted  upon  naming  it  Standish,  but  her  hus 
band  would  not  listen.  He  was  determined  to  name  his 
son,  Peter,  after  his  beloved  father.  As  Fiorina  had  never 
known  old  Peter  Brown,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  appre 
ciate  the  great  reverence  in  which  the  old  veteran  was 
held  by  his  only  surviving  child. 

As  they  stood  in  the  sunlight  peeking  over  Ferrari's 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        291 

shoulder  at  their  darling,  Standish  suddenly  thought 
of  an  argument  which  he  had  overlooked. 

"Yes,  we  will  name  him  Peter,  little  one,"  he  said, 
"both  after  my  father,  and  after  St.  Peter,  the  great  rock 
of  our  Lord,  Jesus  Christ." 

Fiorina  looked  up  doubtfully. 

"  Peter,  Peter,"  she  repeated  musingly,  "No,  no,  him 
Standish.  Standish  better  name  than  Peter,"  and  she 
shook  her  saucy  little  head  determinedly,  and  taking  the 
bundle  from  Ferrari's  arms  she  seated  herself  upon  the 
steps,  while  the  persistent  Standish  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  Yes,  little  one,  we  will  name  the  next  boy,  Standish, 
but — but  this  dear  little  fellow,"  he  said,  coaxingly, 
thrusting  his  big  finger  under  the  infant's  chin,  "we  will 
name,  Peter." 

The  delicate  Fiorina  started  slightly  at  the  thought  of 
the  mother  pain  of  a  second  child,  which  phenomenon  is 
one  of  the  most  wonderful  of  nature's.  A  pain  which 
is  the  quickest  to  come,  the  soonest  forgotten,  and  whose 
sting  is  soothed  by  a  transcendent  joy. 

Then  the  young  wife  laughed  gayly,  and  held  up  her 
little  one  to  her  husband ;  and  as  their  three  heads  were 
all  close  together,  she  whispered  : 

"  Peter,  leetle  Peter,  my  pretty  Petro,"  and  as  Standish 
caressed  her  delightedly,  she  smiled  up  at  him  merrily, 
saying: 

"  But  next  time,  Meester  Brown,  his  name  be  Standish," 
and  they  both  laughed  in  the  richness  of  their  parenthood, 
while  old  Ferrari  contentedly  smoked  his  pipe  and  looked 
dreamily  at  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  short  time  after  Standish  moved  to  Denver,  he  ob 
served  an  interesting  article  in  one  of  the  city  papers.  It 
was  headed  as  follows: 

JOHN  CHARLES  ROSE. 
Nominated  for  Congress  by 
The  United  Democracy  of 
The th  District ! 

The  mine  owner  read  the  article  very  carefully.  In 
fact  he  pondered  over  it  for  several  days,  and  making 
close  inquiries  as  to  the  political  complexion  of  the  dis 
trict,  he  found  that  the  outlook  for  Democratic  success 
was  very  good — almost  certain.  John  Charles  was  the 
unanimous  choice  of  the  delegates,  and  in  addition  to 
being  the  regular  party  nominee,  he  had  the  support  of 
several  of  the  largest  corporations  of  the  state. 

Ever  since  the  "Silver"  issue,  during  which  the  Repub 
licans  lost  the  state  for  the  first,  time,  the  district  had  gone 
overwhelmingly  Democratic.  But  after  Mr.  Bryan's  first 
defeat,  the  Republican  stalwarts  of  the  state  had  rallied 
the  remnants  of  their  party  and  were  making  substantial 
gains,  tho  as  yet  far  from  overcoming  the  large  Dem 
ocratic  majority. 

Silver  had  been  defeated  so  signally  in  the  great  na 
tional  campaign  of  1896,  that  those  Coloradoans  who  had 
once  supported  the  cause  of  the  white  metal  so  loyally, 
gradually  became  apathetic  under  the  overwhelming 
forces  of  the  East,  and  the  state  was  slowly  but  surely 
swinging  toward  the  Republican  column  again. 

The  absorbing  question  with  Standish  soon  became, 
could  John  Charles  possibly  be  defeated?  For  he  was 
determined,  as  he  reviewed  the  situation,  that  a  cheat,  a 
traitor,  and  an  acknowledged  rank  corporation  lawyer, 
should  be  beaten  at  any  cost. 

293 


294        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

He  frankly  admitted  to  himself  that  he  would  certainly 
enjoy  defeating  the  unprincipled  dog,  and  candidly  ad 
mitting  his  personal  selfishness  in  this  respect,  and  also 
acknowledging  that  it  would  be  sweet  revenge  to  kill  this 
puppet's  political  ambitions  for  all  time  to  come,  he  did 
not  overlook  the  fact,  that  really  and  truly,  from  an  un 
prejudiced  standpoint,  it  would  be  a  disgrace  for  a  com 
monwealth  to  send  such  a  representative  to  congress.  With 
this  broad  and  true  conviction,  he  settled  down  with  a 
grim  determination  of  defeating  Rose  at  the  polls. 

Standish,  with  thousands  of  other  staunch  Republicans 
in  Colorado,  had  abandoned  the  G.  O.  P.  in  1896,  on 
account  of  its  negative  stand  on  the  silver  question.  But 
he  had  accepted  the  several  signal  defeats  of  silver  with 
good  grace,  hoping  that  the  white  metal  would  eventually 
find  its  way  to  universal  coinage  upon  a  settled  and  equit 
able  ratio  with  gold ;  and  that  the  world  of  finance  would 
be  compelled  to  recognize  silver  sooner  or  later,  in  order 
to  keep  pace  with  the  greatly  increasing  expansion  of  the 
world's  commerce. 

During  the  wild  delirium  of  the  times,  for  Colorado 
by  reason  of  its  large  production  of  the  metal  was  a  unit 
for  free  silver,  Standish  had  drifted  into  the  ranks  of  the 
Silver  Republicans ;  then  he  voted  the  Fusion  ticket ;  then 
the  Democratic,  until  all  hopes  of  silver's  recognition  was 
past;  but  in  these  last  few  years  he  had  returned  to  the 
Republican  fold,  and  was  pleased  to  find  himself  again  a 
staunch  supporter  of  the  doctrines  and  traditions  of  Lin 
coln,  Grant,  and  Blaine. 

Quickly  allying  himself  with  the  Republican  campaign 
managers  shortly  after  the  announcement  of  Rose's  candi 
dacy,  the  mine  owner  devoted  himself  almost  exclusively  to 
politics,  with  the  sole  object  of  defeating  his  old  attorney 
good  and  roundly.  A  careful  poll  was  made  of  the  dis 
trict  at  his  expense,  which  developed  a  probable  Demo 
cratic  plurality  of  at  least  a  thousand.  Within  the  district 
was  Plant  B  of  the  American  Smelter  Co.  It  employed 
some  five  hundred  men  at  this  time,  and  the  poll  indicated 
that  most  of  them  voted  the  Democratic  ticket,  who  as 
true  Coloradoans,  were  still  loyal  to  the  traditions  of  sil- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        295 

ver.  Tho  the  task  seemed  hopeless,  Standish  felt  that 
there  was  a  chance  to  do  some  effective  work  among  these 
men,  and  he  astonished,  with  his  deadly  earnestness,  those 
campaign  workers  who  at  first  were  inclined  to  laugh  at 
the  raw  awkwardness  of  the  tall  mine  owner.  However, 
they  were  soon  forced  to  admit,  that  in  spite  of  his  awk 
wardness  and  greenness  in  politics,  he  was  obtaining  sub 
stantial  results,  for  almost  every  day  as  the  campaign 
progressed  he  made  increasing  acquisitions  toward  the  de 
feat  of  John  Charles  Rose. 

Inspired  by  his  example,  the  Republican  workers  soon 
developed  from  a  half  hearted  apathetic  group  of  partis 
ans,  into  a  body  of  enthusiastic  and  earnest  campaigners. 
Standish  contributed  generously  and  early  to  the  cam 
paign  fund,  and  almost  before  the  battle  was  fairly  on  in 
the  Democratic  camp,  the  Republicans  were  fighting 
fiercely. 

Standish  had  considered  very  carefully  the  cost  of  his 
venture  in  politics,  and  he  quickly  saw  that  it  would  be 
folly  for  him  to  make  his  contributions  blindly.  He  made 
up  his  mind  therefore,  that  in  return  for  his  subscriptions 
to  the  campaign  "bar'l",  that  he  should  be  privileged 
to  personally  oversee  and  disburse  the  entire  fund.  In 
this  manner,  tho  he  was  bled  pretty  hard,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  just  where  and  how  the  money 
was  spent,  thus  eliminating  to  a  certain  extent,  the  posi- 
bility  of  any  extensive  steals  by  certain  corrupt  and  un 
scrupulous  party  workers. 

As  election  day  approached,  the  Republican  managers 
were  fairly  astounded  at  the  unique  and  daring  tactics 
displayed  by  the  aroused  mine  owner.  He  had  rallied 
all  of  his  friends,  a  large  number  of  the  tenants  of  his 
extensive  real  properties,  and  many  of  their  friends,  to 
the  support  of  the  Republican  candidate  for  congress; 
while  several  of  the  strongest  corporation  men  of  the  state, 
to  whom  Standish  had  made  strong  representations  backed 
by  his  large  personal  holdings  in  their  enterprises,  were 
openly  repudiating  Rose. 

The  leading  independent  newspaper  of  the  mountain 
metropolis  began  to  turn  its  editorial  batteries  upon  the 


296        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

character  of  Rose,  presenting  undeniable  proofs  from  time 
to  time,  that  the  Democratic  candidate  for  congress  was 
secretly  backed  by  several  of  the  most  powerful  and 
iniquitous  corporations  of  the  city  and  state,  including  the 
American  Smelter  Co. 

Then  the  question  was  raised  by  the  Democratic  man 
agers  as  to  who  furnished  the  money  to  keep  up  those 
attacks,  for  it  was  well  known  even  at  that  time,  that  one 
had  to  "come  thru,"  the  watchword  of  one  of  its 
owners,  with  a  large  wad  in  order  to  command  the  col 
umns  of  that  particular  sheet.  And  while  the  enemy 
raged  and  roared  thru  its  various  journals  as  to  the 
irresponsibility  of  the  sheet,  the  Republican  managers 
smiled  to  themselves — it  had  been  a  long  time  since  they 
had  "got  next"  to  such  a  goodly  bar'l  as  the  mine  owner 
was  disbursing  with  free,  yet  firm,  hand. 

It  is  very  interesting  to  watch  a  political  campaign  in 
Colorado.  With  both  sexes  voting — women  upon  a  par 
and  equal  footing  with  the  men;  the  wife  and  daughter 
voting  side  by  side  with  father  and  son,  a  great  treat  is 
•afforded  to  that  perhaps  still  uncivilized — in  this  notable 
respect — Easterner,  who  has  never  before  beheld  the  won 
ders,  delights,  advantages,  and,  possibly,  some  evils — but 
not  enough  to  count — of  an  election  where  women  are 
recognized  as  equal  suffragists  with  men. 

The  Republican  headquarters  on  Sixteenth  Street  was 
a  model  of  neatness  and  jovial  hospitality.  Choice  cigars 
were  always  to  be  had  for  the  asking,  and  wet  goods  were 
dispensed  at  the  expense  of  the  party  in  a  saloon  around 
the  corner. 

During  the  period  of  registration,  a  constant  stream  of 
carriages  drove  up  to  its  doors,  and  thousands  of  citizens 
were  duly  registered  at  the  courthouse  across  the  street. 

Here  would  come  a  hack  from  the  "tenderloin"  or  slum 
district  of  the  city,  filled  with  disreputable  men  and  wo 
men.  As  the  hackman  opened  the  door  of  his  vehicle, 
the  stench  of  musk  and  cheap  perfume  would  almost 
knock  him  down,  but  he  generally  remained  pluckilly 
at  his  post,  and  would  politely  bow  his  frowsy  crew  into 
headquarters,  and  often  enter  himself  at  the  saloon  around 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        297 

the  corner  to  regale  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  party, 
if  it  was  nothing  but  lemonade. 

Immediately  following  him  would  probably  be  a  cab  or 
auto  containing  a  servant  girl  from  Capitol  Hill,  who 
would  be  duly  registered  by  a  polite  lady  party  worker, 
the  lady  managers  of  the  campaign  proving  themselves 
very  efficient,  and  it  was  wholly  thru  their  efforts  that 
hundreds  of  working  women  were  registered. 

And  thus  clear  up  and  down  the  scale  of  human  so 
ciety,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  good  and  bad,  were  en- 
veigled  by  the  various  party  workers  into  the  almost  hope 
less  mesh  of  politics. 

Day  after  day  the  registration  period  passed  with  stren 
uous  efforts  put  forth  by  both  parties.  After  which  a  care 
ful  check  indicated  a  heavy  and  substantial  registration 
gain  thruout  the  district.  It  was  very  encouraging, 
and  Standish  felt  that  it  foretold  Republican  success,  al- 
tho,  as  usual,  both  sides  claimed  the  advantage. 

Almost  every  other  portion  of  the  ticket  was  abandoned 
by  the  Republicans,  so  intense  was  their  desire  to  elect 
a  Republican  to  congress.  If  they  could  concentrate  upon 
this  one  point,  and  elect  a  Republican  congressman  from 
Colorado,  the  stronghold  of  silver,  it  would  forever  re 
dound  to  their  credit  and  fame  in  the  annals  of  the  G.  O.  P. 
It  would  break  that  solid  delegation  of  Democrats 
and  Fusionists  which  at  this  time  made  up  Colorado's  sole 
representation  in  congress,  and  the  mild  enthusiasm  which 
Standish  had  infused  into  the  managers  at  the  outset  of 
the  campaign,  soon  developed  into  such  a  fierce  and  madly 
enthusiastic  struggle,  that  Democracy  trembled  in  its 
strongholds. 

Its  leading  newspaper  stormed  and  spouted  with  a  con 
stant  cry  of  boodle  and  blackmail,  the  unholy  defamation 
of  the  spotless  character  of  John  Charles  Rose,  and  the 
base  betrayal  of  the  sacred  cause  of  silver. 

Standish  smiled  at  the  cry  of  boodle.  He  certainly  was 
putting  up  a  good  wad,  but  he  felt  that  it  was  spent  in  a 
good  cause ;  and  he  continued  to  good-humoredly  keep  the 
campaign  bar'l  well  filled  and  everybody  was  happy. 

A  few  days  before  the  election  he  was  visited  by  Colonel 


298         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Rose,  and  the  old  gentleman,  after  making  a  few  common 
place  remarks  which  Standish  felt  sure  were  the  mere 
preliminaries  of  something  more  important,  said: 

"  Standish,  what's  this  I  read  in  the  papers  about  your 
putting  up  most  of  the  money  for  the  Republican  cam 
paign?  I  never  knew  before  that  you  were  such  a  good 
Republican  as  all  that." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it's  all  true,  Colonel,  I'm  spending  quite 
a  wad  with  the  boys  for  my  little  fling  in  politics,"  re 
plied  the  mine  owner  frankly. 

"Urn — well — what  you  doing  it  for,  you  big  chump?" 
continued  the  Colonel  hotly,  ''coming  down  here  from 
Plume,  and  letting  these  blood  suckers  drain  you  of  the 
good  money  which  Peter  and  I  tried  so  hai»d  to  save  for 
you." 

It  was  plain  that  the  old  gentleman  was  getting  pretty 
close  to  something,  and  it  was  in  vain  that  Standish  tried 
to  evade  his  close  questionings  upon  the  subject.  The  old 
man  persisted,  and  Standish  finally  thought  it  best  to 
come  out  plainly  and  tell  the  truth. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  "since  you  are  so  much  concerned 
as  to  why  I  am  taking  an  active  part  in  this  campaign, 
I  must  tell  you  frankly,  that  I  am  going  to  give  John 
that  'd — mned  good  licking'  which  you  suggested  to  me 
after  I  settled  with  him  last  January.  But  instead  of 
giving  him  a  bodily  trouncing,  however,  I  just  intend  to 
kill  him  politically  in  this  community." 

The  Colonel  fairly  winced  under  the  almost  brutal 
force  of  his  friend's  remarks,  for  in  spite  of  his  apparent 
acknowledgment  of  his  son's  shortcomings,  the  father- 
love,  the  deep  parent  concern  and  family  pride  of  the  old 
gentleman  were  plainly  visible,  and  Standish  regretted 
that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  speak  as  he  did,  tho 
secretly  he  felt  that  the  visit  of  the  Colonel  was  made 
solely  at  the  request  of  the  son. 

"  D m  it,  Standish,  can't  you  call  your  dog  off,"  the 

Colonel  blurted  out  heatedly  after  a  brief  silence,  "  Can't 
you  let  up  on  that  old  deaf  a  little?  John  has  made  his 
mistakes  in  life  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  and  I  know  per 
sonally,  that  he  has  deeply  regretted  his  action  in  that 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         299 

smelter  deal.  In  fact,  I'm  not  ashamed  to  say,  that  I 
have  come  to  you  at  his  request,  to  patch  that  matter 
up  in  some  manner  to  your  liking.  Now,  honest  injun, 
Standish,"  the  old  man  continued  earnestly,  "can't  you 
let  up  a  little.  My  boy  has  worked  a  lifetime  to  get  to 
the  point  where  he  could  make  this  run  for  congress — 
and  now  you  step  in.  You!  The  son  of  the  best  friend 
I  ever  had  —  you  step  in  and  spoil  the  whole  business. 

D m  it,  I  beg  of  you,  Standish,  for  old-times  sake,  to 

let  up  a  little.    Don't  rub  it  in  too  deep,  my  boy." 

Standish  was  deeply  touched  by  the  old  gentleman's 
remarks,  but  his  heart  was  not  softened  toward  John 
Charles.  He  bitterly  recalled  the  snobbishness,  the  vici 
ous  cutting  egotism,  all  the  overbearing  remarks  which 
the  young  attorney  had  made  to  him  in  years  gone  by, 
even  before  he  had  at  last  basely  betrayed  him  in  the 
smelter  deal;  and  he  felt  in  the  very  innermost  depths 
of  his  soul,  that  this  man,  John  Charles  Rose,  was  false, 
utterly  false,  to  the  very  core  of  his  existence.  No !  He 
would  not  stay  his  hand.  He  would  strike  as  he  intended, 
and  perhaps  the  fellow  thus  publicly  rebuked,  would 
reform  and  start  upon  a  more  honorable  career  of  truth 
and  veracity. 

"  Colonel,"  he  finally  replied  in  his  most  kindly  spirit, 
"I  can,  indeed,  never  express  to  the  full,  my  true  and 
affectionate  feelings  toward  you  —  my  great  esteem,  my 
hearty  respect;  but  I  am  compelled  to  say  to  you,  that 
I  believe  your  son  to  be  possessed  of  very  questionable 
and  unworthy  principles,  and  every  success  he  has  along 
those  lines  will  only  tend  to  further  corrupt  and  con 
firm  him  in  those  views.  And  I  believe  that  the  best 
thing  that  can  happen  to  a  man  of  his  disposition,  is 
for  him  to  suffer  a  severe  and  crushing  defeat.  In  my 
association  with  him  I  have  found  him  false  to  the  core. 
False  in  his  philosophy,  false  to  his  parents,  his  family, 
his  associates;  and  the  abject  slave  of  an  insatiable  am 
bition.  I  distrusted  him  from  the  beginning,  and  it 
was  only  the  most  sincere  consideration  and  affection  for 
yourself,  dear  friend,  that  I  trusted  him  for  one  moment 
with  the  affairs  of  my  estate,  and  you  yourself  are  aware 


300        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  his  utter  perfidy.  For  years  previous  to  my  employ 
ment  of  him,  he  contemptuously  insinuated  his  great 
superiority  over  me,  because  I  had  only  a  common  school 
education,  and  he  was  a  college  man.  Now  let  him  learn 
that  the  common  school  product  has  at  least  spirit,  honor, 
and  the  courage  of  its  convictions.  I  give  you  my  word, 
dear  friend,  that  if  I  thought  he  was  capable  of  taking 
a  chastening  from  a  man  whom  he  had  formerly  looked 
down  upon  in  contempt,  I  would  pass  up  this  fight.  But 
no  —  he  is  too  far  steeped  in  collegiate  and  dogmatic 
egotism  to  ever  adjust  himself  to  the  circumstance  and 
play  fair.  Success  in  this  battle  will  only  tend  to  further 
degrade  a  man  of  his  character,  failure  may  disillusion 
him.  If  you  succeed  in  calling  me  off,  I  do  not  believe 
that  he  would  think  of  it  afterward  in  any  other  light, 
but  that  I  was  a  sucker  and  he  was  clever  enough  to  buy 
me  off.  He  deliberately  betrayed  your  recommendation 
of  himself  to  me  within  six  months,  and  I  do  not  hesi 
tate  to  say,  that  I  believe  he  is  again  capable  of  using  you, 
his  own  father,  as  a  mere  tool  to  further  his  own  machina 
tions.  How  can  you  ask  me,  or  any  one  else,  to  support 
and  countenance  such  actions,  Colonel,"  continued  the 
earnest  man  with  deep  feeling.  "God  knows  I  love  you, 
not  only  for  my  own  sake,  but  for  your  loyalty  and  kind 
ness  to  old  Peter  Brown,  and  it  grieves  me  deeply  to  be 
the  cause,  however  innocent,  of  bringing  you  one  single 
heartache ;  but  my  manhood  utterly  revolts  at  feeding  the 
selfish  ambitions  of  John  Charles  Rose,  and  I  sincerely 
hope  that  thru  this  defeat,  which  I  believe  he  will  surely 
suffer,  that  he  may  be  enlightened  as  to  how  far  an  un- 
scrupulous^  unprincipled  man  may  go  before  he  meets 
with  that  inevitable  defeat  which  invariably  awaits  just 
such  an  individual." 

The  Colonel  had  listened  attentively  to  his  tall  friend. 
Within  his  soul  he  felt  the  truth  of  the  remarks,  even 
tho  his  heart  beat  love  and  compassion  for  his  son. 
Finally  he  spoke. 

"Standish,  there  are  times  when  it  behooves  men  not 
to  resist  fate.  I  feel  that  you  are  right.  And  in  any 
event,  I  should  not  as  a  man  of  honor,  allow  my  sense 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE         301 

of  right  and  wrong  to  be  seduced  by  the  beat  of  the 
heart.  Yes,  you  are  right,"  he  continued  reflectively, 
"and  I  honor  you  for  it.  Ah,  my  dear  boy,  I  see  much 
of  the  brave  old  Peter  in  you.  I  shall  never  forget  that 
first  day  at  Shiloh  Church,  he  stood  where  only  heroes 
could,  to  hold  the  fading  Union  line.  God  bless  you, 
brave  old  comrade ;  and  you  too,  his  faithful  son." 

As  the  old  gentleman  rose  to  go,  Standish  silently  ex 
tended  his  hand,  which  the  Colonel  clasped  warmly ;  and 
as  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Standish  could  hear  his 
heavy  footsteps  and  the  "tap-tap"  of  his  cane  upon  the 
floor  as  he  walked  toward  the  elevator.  The  Sbund  of 
it  unnerved  him;  "I'm  sorry.  My  God!  I'm  so  sorry," 
he  cried,  and  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Thru  all  the  mazes  of  the  campaign  Standish  had  kept 
one  card  in  reserve.  Tho  feeling  almost  sanguine  that 
Rose  would  be  defeated,  yet  to  positively  insure  it,  he 
held  this  last  trump,  which  he  played  as  a  final  clincher. 

The  morning  of  the  day  before  the  election,  John 
Charles  opened  the  front  door  of  his  residence  to  get 
the  morning  papers,  which  were  thrown  on  the  front 
porch  by  the  carriers.  He  looked  eagerly  at  the  front 
page  of  the  independent  paper  which  had  been  caricatur 
ing  and  lampooning  him  so  zealously  thruout  the  greater 
part  of  the  campaign.  He  wondered  what  the  final 
spasm  would  be. 

When  the  attorney's  eyes  rested  upon  the  hideous  car 
toon  on  the  front  page,  and  read  the  glaring  headlines 
of  the  article  devoted  to  him,  printed  in  large  double 
type  and  red  ink,  he  felt  that  all  was  lost. 

Standish  Brown  had  inserted  the  entire  correspondence 
of  the  Gilpin  smelter  deal,  and  in  a  lengthy  interview, 
had  exposed  the  full  treachery  of  his  former  business 
agent.  And  as  Rose  read  the  entire  sensational  article, 
the  absolute  truth  of  it  was  driven  into  his  soul  by  an 
acute  pang  of  conscience.  His  pride  and  egotism  com 
pletely  deserted  him  for  the  moment,  and  he  fairly 
cringed  in  the  agony  of  defeat.  He  seemed  to  be  in  the 
presence  of  a  tall,  manly  figure,  who  quoted  him  a  para 
graph  from  a  certain  notebook: 

"Must  learn  to  tolerate  his  ignorance  and  affect  good-fellow 
ship  in  his  presence." 

Yes,  John  Charles,  "affect  good  fellowship"  in  the 
presence  of  true  men,  to  your  great  and  certain  peril. 

Affectation  is  the  outer  garb  of  hypocrisy,  and  hy 
pocrisy  is  punished  in  the  last  and  deepest  sunk  pit  of 
the  inferno.  Even  Mohammed,  founder  of  the  religion 

303 


304        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

of  the  Sword-hand,  places  the  hypocrite  far  beneath  the 
regions  of -incest,  adultery,  treason,  and  murder;  setting 
him  howling  and  cowering  in  the  blackest  depths  of  hell. 
While  the  most  terrible  rebuke  to  the  hypocrite  ever 
recorded,  was  spoken  by  the  gentlest  of  men  to  the  dis 
sembling  Pharisees. 

Hypocrisy  is  a  crime  from  wrhich  afflicted  individuals 
rarely  recover.  It  is  also  a  crime  which  men  are  sure  to 
detect.  It  can  never  be  hidden  so  cleverly  or  buried  so 
deeply,  but  that  some  one  will  find  and  unearth  it.  Like 
the  counterfeit  or  sweated  coin,  there  is  always  some  keen- 
sighted,  sensitive-fingered  individual  who  will  detect  its 
imperfections  and  fraud.  It  is  also  a  crime  which  of  all 
others  seems  to  arouse  the  greatest  indignation  and  hatred 
in  the  breasts  of  its  victims,  witness  the  burning  ex 
pletives  of  the  Son  of  Man  upon  its  perpetrators. 

As  Rose  sat  at  breakfast  that  morning,  he  was  the 
picture  of  despair.  He  had  burned  the  expose  paper  in 
the  grate,  for  he  felt  that  it  would  not  only  worry  his 
wife,  but  would  also  require  a  great  effort  on  his  part 
to  deny  and  excuse  the  charge,  and  thus  add  another  lie 
to  his  already  heavy  account. 

His  wife  noticed  his  deep  dejection,  however,  and  she 
tried  her  best  to  cheer  him  by  reading  the  favorable 
notices  from  the  Democratic  papers.  The  items  did  cheer 
him  somewhat,  and  he  partially  recovered  himself. 
Things  did  not  look  so  bad  after  all.  From  every  por 
tion  of  the  district  came  encouraging  reports.  Silver 
was  not  nearly  as  dead  as  the  Republicans  would  have 
it.  Indeed,  there  had  been  no  important  party  defec 
tions  thruout  the  entire  campaign,  and  perhaps  there  was 
a  fighting  chance  yet.  By  the  time  he  left  for  the  office 
that  morning,  he  had  shaken  off  considerable  of  the 
effects  of  the  shock  of  the  expose. 

At  headquarters  he  met  the  questioning  Democratic 
managers  with  assuring  smiles,  and  branded  the  entire 
article  as  a  base  forgery.  The  managers  looked  pretty 
glum,  however,  but  said  nothing  disparaging,  and  re 
turned  to  the  charge  with  grim  determination.  It  didn't 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         305 

really  matter  much,  for  the  campaign  was  ^so  far  ad 
vanced  that  it  was  now  almost  the  mere  matter  of  getting 
out  the  vote. 

Later  in  the  forenoon  Rose  closeted  himself  with  the 
editors  of  the  Democratic  evening  papers,  and  absolute 
denials  of  the  Gilpin  smelter  deal  were  written.  They 
would  in  a  measure  parry  the  blow,  and  as  the  election 
occurred  the  following  day,  it  would  be  too  late  for  any 
investigation  which  public-spirited  citizens  might  choose 
to  make.  As  the  day  lengthened,  Rose's  spirits  arose, 
and  that  evening  in  the  chambers  of  the  Jacksonian  Club, 
he  was  almost  exultant  in  his  anticipations  of  victory. 

Thruout  the  entire  day  preceding  the  election,  the 
Republican  managers  worked  almost  exclusively  among 
the  smelter  employees.  The  original  documents  and  cor 
respondence  of  the  Gilpin  expose  were  exhibited  in  the 
windows  of  a  grocery  store  a  short  distance  from  Plant 
B,  and  placed  under  the  guard  of  a  pair  of  Pinkertons. 
Hundreds  of  copies  of  the  newspaper  containing  the  ex 
pose  were  distributed  among  the  smelter  men  as  they 
came  from  their  work.  Under  promise  of  protection  by 
the  Republican  managers,  several  staunch  partisans  who 
were  employed  in  Plant  B,  openly  and  forcibly  discussed 
among  their  fellow  workmen,  the  iniquities  of  John 
Charles  Rose. 

When  the  Republican  workers  finished  their  labors 
late  that  night,  they  felt  confident  that  a  great  change 
of  opinion  had  been  effected  among  the  smelter  employees, 
and  that  many  of  them  would  vote  for  the  Republican 
candidate  for  congress  on  the  morrow. 

Standish  Brown  retired  late  that  night  feeling  con 
fident  of  victory. 

John  Charles  also  retired  late,  very  late,  and  appeared 
quite  hopeful.  He  and  his  managers  had  put  up  a  great 
fight,  and  they  believed  that  they  would  carry  the  district 
by  the  usual  majority. 


CHAPTER  V 

Election  day  dawned  bright  and  fair.  The  senior 
United  States  Senator  of  Colorado  and  his  wife  were  the 
first  voters  to  arrive  at  "  Precinct  5,"  a  voting  center  of 
one  of  the  lower  Capitol  Hill  wards. 

The  Senator  had  arrived  from  Washington  late  in 
September,  and  had  taken  an  active  interest  thruout  the 
campaign. 

He  impressed  one  as  a  fine  specimen  of  Western  man 
hood  as  he  stood  chatting  with  the  election  judges  waiting 
for  the  polls  to  open.  His  face  was  kindly,  his  eyes 
bright,  and  his  white  beard  and  hair  gave  him  a  patri 
archal  air  that  held  the  close  attention  and  respect  of  his 
listeners.  In  his  heroic  battle  for  the  lost  cause  of  silver, 
he  had  aroused  the  admiration  of  the  entire  nation. 

At  the  Republican  convention  held  in  St.  Louis  in 
1896,  when  it  became  evident  that  the  party  had  de 
cided  to  completely  abandon  silver,  and  would  insert  in 
its  platform  a  solid  plank  for  the  gold  standard,  this 
heroic  son  of  Colorado  then  and  there  severed  his  con 
nection  with  that  great  party  whose  standards  he  had 
more  than  once  advanced  to  victory.  He  deliberately 
and  resolutely  abandoned  the  G.  0.  P.  and  also  those 
tender  ties  of  sentiment  which  years  of  pleasant  and  loyal 
fellowship  with  its  most  famous  leaders  had  made  pre 
cious.  He  bravely  declared  for  the  deep  silver  sentiment 
of  his  constituents,  the  State  of  Colorado,  and  the  Moun 
tain  West;  and  left  the  convention  hall  with  his  loyal 
colleagues,  his  eyes  moistened  with  tears,  but  his  soul 
and  honor  absolutely  true  to  the  desires  and  dictates  of 
his  people. 

By  appearing  thus  early  and  promptly  at  the  polls 
with  his  good  wife,  the  Senator  was  only  proving  once 
more  his  enviable  reputation  as  a  consistent  and  high- 
minded  suffragist. 

307 


308        THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

In  a  short  time  the  election  officers  announced  their 
readiness  to  accept  votes,  and  after  the  Senator  and  his 
wife  had  been  given  ballots  they  entered  the  booths. 
The  Senator  emerged  first,  and  he  gallantly  waited  for 
his  better  half  to  appear,  she  having  been  given  the  first 
ballot. 

"Guess  wife  has  got  some  fog  on  her  glasses,  or  else 
she's  scratching  mighty  hard,"  he  whispered  to  the  man 
in  charge  of  the  ballot-box,  and  they  both  laughed 
heartily. 

Presently  the  delinquent  appeared  from  behind  the 
canvas  flap  of  the  booth,  and  after  giving  a  half-amused 

fiance  at  her  guilty  husband,  she  gravely  deposited  her 
allot,  the  Senator  following  a  moment  later. 

The  next  parties  to  vote  were  a  negro  coachman  and 
his  wife,  who  were  in  the  employ  of  a  millionaire  mine 
owner.  Their  dusky  faces  were  wreathed  in  smiles  as 
they  deposited  their  ballots.  Voting  is  a  great  novelty 
to  these  Americanized  children  of  Africa,  and  what  a 
pleasure  it  was  for  the  faithful  wife  to  come  in  the  com 
pany  of  her  husband,  to  voice  their  sentiments  as  equal 
partners,  both  in  marriage  and  suffrage  under  the  laws 
of  an  enlightened  commonwealth. 

America!    The  great  leveler  of  caste. 

The  rich  soil  of  equal  rights  from  which  every  man 
and  woman  developes  unprejudiced,  the  resources  of  their 
individuality. 

The  promising  son  of  Ham,  enjoying  the  suffrage  pre 
rogative  of  the  nation  equally  with  the  patriarchal  intel 
lectual  Senator  of  a  great  commonwealth;  and  the  dark- 
skinned  maid  of  Africa,  given  equal  privileges  of  suffrage 
with  the  accomplished  matron  of  the  nation's  elite. 

When  Standish,  and  Ferrari  —  who  had  been  nat 
uralized —  arrived  at  the  precinct,  unaccompanied  by 
Fiorina,  however,  who  still  lacked  a  few  days  of  the 
voting  age,  it  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  church 
sociable,  the  election  judge  and  clerkships  being  equally 
distributed  among  the  men  and  women,  save  that  the 
men  were  allowed  the  privilege  of  smoking.  The  precinct 
was  not  very  densely  populated,  it  being  in  the  Capitol 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        309 

Hill  district,  where  there  were  only  a  few  residences  to 
the  block;  thus  the  voters  arrived  slowly,  and  often  at 
considerable  intervals.  In  order  to  pass  the  time,  the 
lady  officials  had  brought  their  sewing,  and  were  also 
being  regaled  by  confections  and  refreshments  which  the 
different  party  organizations  were  kind  enough  to  supply ; 
while  the  men  folk  indulged  themselves  in  cigars, 
swapped  yarns,  and  read  the  morning  papers, 

Ferrari  was  much  interested  in  the  voting  process,  and 
Standish  called  in  the  services  of  one  of  the  clerks  to 
assist  the  old  man  in  marking  his  ballot  in  the  desired 
manner.  As  the  old  Italian  proffered  his  ballot  he  took 
off  his  hat  and  made  a  low  formal  bow  to  the  officials, 
which  greatly  amused  them,  but  which  action  they  un 
derstood  'better  after  Standish  had  given  them  a  brief 
synopsis  of  his  remarkable  career.  Many  times  after 
this  incident  as  Ferrari  took  his  afternoon  stroll,  wheeling 
little  Peter,  he  was  pointed  out  as  a  brave  Italian  veteran 
who  had  fought  under  the  famous  Garibaldi. 

Things  were  running  smoothly  at  the  precinct  where 
Gus  Johnson  voted,  and  he  had  finally  succeeded  in  coax 
ing  his  wife  to  vote.  Mrs.  Johnson  had  been  registered  all 
right,  but  when  it  came  to  actually  voting,  she  felt  a  deep 
revulsion  in  her  soul. 

Poor  little  woman,  she  saw  life  only  thru  dark-stained 
glasses.  Election  day  was  always  a  day  of  horror  to  her. 
It  invariably  meant  a  prolonged  spree  upon  the  part  of 
her  husband.  If  his  party  was  victorious,  his  frequent 
libations  celebrated  the  event.  If  that  same  party  went 
down  to  defeat,  he  drowned  his  disappointment  in  drink. 
So  that,  in  either  event,  he  arrived  home  in  the  wee  small 
hours,  hopelessly  and  disgustingly  intoxicated. 

In  addition  to  the  sorrow  which  election  day  invariably 
brought  to  the  little  careworn  woman,  she  possessed  that 
morbidly  supersensitive  feeling  about  casting  her  vote 
which  is  often  observed  among  the  woman  suffragists  of 
Colorado. 

Why  was  it  right  to  vote  for  John  Smith  and  not  for 
Tom  Robinson.  What  did  this  technically  worded 


310        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

amendment  mean?  Why  should  this  be  voted  upon  at 
all?  And  so  clear  down  the  line,  when  a  conscientious 
woman  has  her  hands  full  of  insistent  domestic  and 
household  duties  in  addition  to  the  deep  affliction  of  a 
drunken  husband  or  some  similar  burden,  she  very  often 
has  neither  the  time  or  inclination  to  inform  herself  upon 
political  matters.  Yet}  with  that  pride  which  is  char 
acteristic  of  her  sex,  she  does  prize  the  privilege,  tho  not 
desiring  to  vote  blindly,  nor  in  opposition  to  her  husband. 

Consequently,  there  are  many  good  and  worthy  women 
in  Colorado,  who  under  the  stress  of  their  domestic  cares, 
and  quite  confused  in  the  interminable  mass  of  discussion 
in  the  press,  the  varying  views  of  their  better  informed 
neighbors  or  those  possessed  of  ulterior  motives,  refuse 
absolutely  at  times  to  exercise  their  right  of  suffrage.  And 
thus  refusing,  they  feel  comforted,  perhaps,  that  altho 
they  have  not  raised  their  voices  for  the  right  —  whatever 
that  may  be  —  neither  have  they  subscribed  to  a  possible 
wrong. 

The  men  are  very  content  in  the  matter,  however,  for 
whether  equal  suffrage  uplifts  or  degrades  woman,  the 
Colorado  man  feels  that  like  the  great  boon  which  was 
granted  the  slave  during  the  Rebellion  —  freedom,  the 
Commonwealth  of  Colorado  has  also  granted  freedom  to 
woman;  and  that — at  least  in  this  respect  —  civilization 
can  no  longer  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  him  and  call 
him  tyrant. 

At  this  particular  election,  however,  Johnson  could 
point  his  wife  to  the  candidacy  of  the  ignoble  John  Charles 
Rose,  and  she  felt  blindly  that  she  had  good  cause  to  cast 
her  ballot  against  that  former  employer  of  her  husband 
who  had  so  suddenly,  and  according  to  her  husband's 
statement,  so  unjustly  discharged  him. 

The  Johnsons  accordingly  voted  late  that  afternoon,  and 
after  supper  Johnson  started  down  town  to  watch  the  elec 
tion  returns  in  company  with  his  mistress,  Drink. 

According  to  the  early  bulletins,  the  day  had  passed 
off  quietly.  There  had  been  occasional  rumors  of  riot  and 
fraud  in  several  precincts  of  the  slum  wards,  but  they 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        311 

had  proved  to  be  of  an  insignificant  nature  and  could  have 
slight  bearing  on  the  general  result. 

Standish  had  visited  the  Republican  headquarters  sev 
eral  times  during  the  day,  but  he  stayed  at  home  in  the 
evening,  telephoning  occasionally  to  inquire  about  the  re 
turns.  At  11 :30  he  felt  satisfied  that  Rose  was  defeated, 
altho  the  balance  of  the  Democratic  ticket  was  in  the  lead. 
At  1 :30  A.  M.  he  rose  to  answer  the  insistent  ringing  of 
the  phone,  the  Republican  chairman  announcing  to  his 
bar'l  man,  that  with  the  completed  returns,  the  Repub 
lican  candidate  for  congress  had  been  elected  by  a  small 
but  decisive  plurality. 

"Well  done,"  said  Standish,  and  hanging  up  the  re 
ceiver,  he  returned  to  bed  and  slept  soundly  till  the  rising 
bell. 

With  John  Charles  it  was  different.  At  1 :00  A.  M.  the 
Democratic  managers  were  talking  fraud  to  him.  At  2 :00 
A.  M.  they  had  arranged  a  plan  to  contest  the  election,  but 
at  three  o'clock,  John  Charles  started  for  home,  weary, 
worn  out,  and  at  last  admitting  that  he  was  decisively  and 
hopelessly  defeated.  He  was  too  exhausted  to  rage,  too 
sick  at  heart  to  protest,  and  he  finally  crawled  into  bed  to 
toss  restlessly  for  the  balance  of  the  night, 


CHAPTER  VI 

At  a  late  hour  the  night  of  the  election,  the  "Silver 
Dollar,"  a  famous  saloon  of  Denver,  was  crowded  to  the 
doors.  The  bartenders,  with  their  neat  white  aprons,  fat 
paunches,  and  round,  flushed  faces,  were  passing  out 
liquors  as  fast  as  they  could  be  drawn. 

Mostly  hard  liquors  that  night.  It  was  cold  and  raw 
outside,  and  besides,  the  intense  excitement  of  the  day 
seemed  to  require  hard  whiskies  and  brandies.  The  hour 
was  near  at  hand  when  the  election  results  would  be 
known  and  the  usual  bets  lost  and  won.  The  bartenders 
had  many  wagers  on  deposit  which  their  patrons  had 
made,  and  all  were  watching  the  bulletin  boards  and  filling 
themselves  for  the  final  result. 

Gus  Johnson  could  still  stand  up  to  the  bar.  He  was 
logy,  to  be  sure,  but  his  pedal  extremities  still  managed 
to  maintain  their  equilibrium.  Perhaps  if  he  were  not 
leaning  so  heavily  against  the  bar  it  would  have  been  dif 
ficult  for  him  to  stand ;  but  as  it  was,  he  was  bravely  on  his 
feet  with  his  head  weaving  unsteadily  over  it. 

How  he  and  Drink  were  enjoying  themselves. 

A  bulletin  had  just  arrived.  He  turned  his  head  un 
steadily  toward  the  blackboard  as  the  crowd  pressed  for 
ward.  And  as  the  operator  wrote  the  bulletin  out,  the 
buzz  of  excitement  gradually  increased  with  the  posting 
of  each  line,  until  a  loud  cheer,  mixed  with  oaths  and 
drunken  shouts,  arose  from  the  inebriated  throng. 

Johnson  couldn't  see  very  well,  and  he  was  also  afraid 
to  leave  the  bar.  He  had  fought  to  obtain  that  coveted 
place,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  surrender  it.  He  would 
wait  where  he  was,  and  listen  to  what  they  were  saying. 

"  By  G !  Rose  is  done  for,"  said  a  husky  voice  at  his 

elbow,  "Snowed  under  deeper  than  the  drifts  on  Long's 
Peak.  D him,  that  smelter  deal  fixed  him  plenty." 

"  There's  no  use  in  talkin',  Bill,"  replied  a  voice  which 

313 


314         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

was  almost  lost  in  a  dense  fog  of  "  Green  River,"  "Silver's 

as  dead  as  h .  Two  years  ago  a  yellow  dog  could  have 

run  on  a  silver  ticket  and  been  elected,  but  now  she's 
deader  than  old  Hank  Tabor."  Then  the  pair  forced 
their  way  up  to  the  bar  to  settle  their  wager. 

Johnson,  who  had  been  eagerly  listening,  started. 

Yes,  it  was  really  true.  Everybody  was  saying  so. 
Even  paying  their  bets.  Little  Johnny  Rose — straight- 
laced,  blue-grass,  Kentucky  Rose;  gone  down  and  out 
with  a  smash.  Hurrah ! 

And  maintaining  himself  with  the  tenacity  of  a  bull 
dog  as  the  crowd  surged  forward,  the  drunkard  motioned 
to  the  bartender  to  fill  his  glass.  The  liquor  was  poured 
out  promptly,  and  as  Johnson  seized  the  glass  with 
trembling  fingers,  Drink  said  to  him, 

"We  did  it,  sweet.  You  and  I,  brave  old  pard.  Rose 
would  never  have  been  beaten,  if  you  and  I  hadn't  told 
Bi-own." 

The  drunkard  looked  at  her.  Yes,  it  was  she,  his  beau 
tiful  mistress,  Drink.  She  had  never  looked  more  beauti 
ful  to  him  than  she  did  that  night.  Her  dress  was  superb. 
It  was  draped  about  her  luscious  form  exposing  here  and 
there  her  bare  pink  flesh.  And  as  she  crept  up  into  his 
lap  and  he  felt  her  warm  amorous  breath  upon  his  cheek, 
he  sighed  and  embraced  her  with  fierce  delight. 

When  he  early  began  to  court  her  she  was  such  a  shy, 
timid  thing.  But  then  he  was,  too.  And  when  their  lips 
had  first  met,  they  had  both  hidden  their  faces  in  shame. 
He  in  his  innocence  had  thought  of  what  his  mother 
might  say  if  she  knew.  But  later,  as  he  met  his  love  from 
time  to  time,  that  first  kiss  had  led  to  the  embrace;  and 
that  to  lust,  then  to  the  liaison,  and  now  she  was  the  su 
preme  and  regal  mistress  of  his  soul. 

In  the  Theatre  Terrible  there  is  no  more  fearful  charac 
ter  than  Drink,  and  as  the  drunkard  clung  desperately 
to  the  bar  of  the  Silver  Dollar  that  night,  there  was 
enacted  a  drama  within  his  soul  which  neither  pen  nor 
voice  could  describe. 

He  and  Drink  talked  over  the  days  of  their  old  ac 
quaintance  begun  so  long  ago  in  the  gay  youth  of  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        315 

man.  How  they  laughed  and  exulted  in  the  memory  of 
old  times,  their  delicious  secret  meetings  and  liaisons. 
Those  were  the  days  before  they  had  really  committed 
any  wrong,  any  crime.  Johnson  sighed  at  the  thought  of 
that  happy  and  innocent  long  ago.  For  ah,  since  then 
there  were  many  dark  crimes,  many  silent,  mutely-accus 
ing  graves.  Together  in  their  deep  retrospection  and  con 
templation,  Drink  and  he  entered  the  cemetery  of  his 
soul. 

They  could  not  avoid  it,  because  it  was  a  part  of  their 
existence,  their  ghost-world.  There  were  graves  in  that 
melancholy  plot,  of  beings  who  had  once  existed  with 
them,  but  now  were  no  more. 

Johnson  trembled  as  they  entered  the  somber-hued  plot 
of  the  cypress  and  the  willow.  But  Drink  did  not.  She 
smiled  at  him  significantly,  and  he  tremblingly  followed. 
They  came  to  a  headstone.  Upon  it  was  engraved  the 
name  "DECENCY."  Johnson  remembered  the  death  of 
Decency  well.  He  had  brought  Drink  home  with  him, 
and  as  they  entered  the  house,  Decency,  who  abhorred 
Drink,  fled  out  into  the  bitter  winter  night,  and  the  next 
morning  they  found  her  frozen  to  death.  They  had  both 
attended  her  funeral,  and  had  wept  crocodile  tears  over 
her  fresh  grave.  She  was  such  a  foolish  little  thing,  so 
frail,  so  delicate,  and  yet  so  fair.  Ah!  It  was  indeed  a 
sad  thing,  this  untimely  death  of  reproachful-eyed  De 
cency. 

A  little  further  on  was  the  grave  of  Pride.  At  the 
thought  of  her  demise,  Johnson  cowered  and  wept,  but 
Drink  only  laughed  scornfully  and  said  "Fie." 

Johnson  had  once  really  loved  Pride  fondly,  and  his 
affection  had  been  warmly  reciprocated  by  her.  Her 
death  was  a  terrible  blow  to  him,  and  one  from  which  he 
had  never  fully  recovered. 

But  Drink,  who  had  noticed  his  extreme  trepidation  at 
the  sight  of  Pride's  grave,  looked  at  him  mockingly,  and 
spat  and  stamped  upon  the  grave  of  Pride,  exlaiming: 

"Oh,  the  miserable  hussy!  She  and  I  could  never 
have  lived  in  the  same  house." 

Now,  Johnson  had  pledged  his  hand  to  Pride  in  that 


316        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

long  ago.  They  were  to  be  friends  for  life,  and  soon 
after  he  left  college  he  had  promised  himself  that  he 
would  always  remain  true  to  Pride.  But  one  day  Pride 
had  discovered  Drink  and  he  in  a  shameless  liaison,  and 
when  he  returned  home  to  greet  her,  he  found  only  her 
cold,  lifeless  corpse.  The  sudden  discovery  of  his  guilt 
had  killed  her.  Ah!  It  was  terrible  to  think  of — this 
death  of  his  beautiful,  peerless  Pride. 

The  third  grave  was  that  of  Love.  It  had  no  headstone 
as  yet.  The  drunkard  was  afraid  to  put  one  there.  Some 
how,  the  thought  that  Love,  tender,  bewitching  Love, 
was  dead,  fairly  maddened  him.  Drink  knew  of  this 
-weakness  of  his,  and  whenever  Johnson  grew  ashy  pale, 
and  glared  at  her  with  those  same  fierce,  despairing  eyes 
which  had  witnessed  the  murder  of  Love,  she  would  put 
her  arms  about  him  and  in  the  intoxication  of  her  kisses  he 
would  forget. 

Love  had  been  foully  murdered  by  Drink. 

How  divinely  she  had  once  shone  forth  from  the  eyes 
of  the  drunkard's  wife  in  the  early  years  of  their  mar 
riage.  True,  she  had  often  reproached  him,  and  drooped 
somewhat;  but  again  she  would  revive,  and  gleam 
brightly  out  upon  him  from  his  wife's  eyes  like  some 
beautiful  star. 

But  Drink  was  implacable  in  her  jealousy,  and  one  day 
as  Johnson  staggered  into  his  home  in  company  with 
Drink,  his  wife,  with  tender  Love  shining  in  her  eyes 
for  the  husband,  the  man,  was  pushed  roughly  aside,  even 
as  she  reached  out  her  arms,  by  a  brutal,  disgusting 
drunkard. 

And  as  she  stood  there  heartbroken  in  the  fading  cheer 
of  their  little  home,  with  her  babe,  unconscious  of  im 
pending  evil,  sleeping  peacefully  in  its  cradle  near  the 
hearth,  Love  leaped  from  her  soul,  and  with  a  shriek  of 
despair,  rushed  at  Drink  in  a  frenzy  of  wild,  bitter  pro 
test.  But  as  Drink  met  Love  and  they  struggled  fiercely, 
there,  in  the  sacredness  of  that  little  home,  Drink  arose 
from  the  struggle  coolly  wiping  the  blood  of  her  victim 
from  off  her  dagger.  She  had  deliberately  slain  Love. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         317 

It  was  foul  murder.  And  yet  Drink  smiled  exultantly  at 
the  thought  of  it. 

"Oh,  God!  Oh,  mercy  I"  screamed  Johnson  as  they 
stood  there  listening  to  the  wail  of  the  sad  winds  which 
swept  dismally  over  the  unmarked  grave  of  Love. 

"You!  YOU!!  You  killed  her,"  he  cried,  "Murder 
ess,  fiend,  you  killed  her,"  he  repeated. 

But  Drink  only  stared  coldly  and  contemptuously  at 
him,  and,  then  clutching  him  by  the  throat,  she  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Ah  I  Yes.  It  is  easy  to  accuse  me  thus,  but  come — 
come  to  where  you  have  slain  your  victim,"  and,  dragging 
him  forward  out  upon  the  bleak  prairie  of  his  soul,  she 
pointed  toward  a  low,  sandy  mound  hidden  in  a  depres 
sion  of  the  wide,  lonely  waste.  Johnson  struggled  fiercely, 
but  in  vain.  Drink  was  the  stronger. 

There  was  no  mistake.  This  was,  indeed,  the  very  place. 
He  was  facing  his  own  crime  now.  Here  was  where  he 
had  ravished  Shame. 

After  the  death  of  Love,  who  had  given  him  so  much 
that  was  beautiful  and  sacred,  he  had  met  Shame.  She 
had  innocently  tried  to  save  him  from  the  error  of  his 
ways,  and  had  brought  him  out  here  on  this  lonely  prairie 
under  the  bright  stars,  and  face  to  face  with  God,  where 
Drink  would  not  see  them.  Johnson  had  long  listened  to 
her  prattle,  but  all  the  time  he  felt  a  consuming,  unholy 
lust  within  him. 

Shame  was  a  being  who  was  innocent  and  trusting;  a 
pure  virgin  dedicated  to  the  saving  of  souls,  and  who 
could  have  saved  him  if  he  had  only  been  a  man.  But 
here,  here  upon  this  lonely  prairie  under  the  glittering  stars, 
he  had  remorselessly  ravished  her,  and  when  he  had  heard 
Drink  coming  in  the  distance,  had  killed  her  to  hide  his 
more  horrible  crime.  He  had  never  forgotten  the  terrify 
ing  moment  when  Drink  discovered  him  in  this  awful 
crime.  He  had  known  her  dread  supremacy  before,  but 
from  this  moment  on,  he  became  her  abject  slave. 

Over  the  cold  corpse  of  Shame,  Drink  joked  with  him. 
The  death  of  Shame  had  really  delighted  her.  It  meant 


318        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

that  the  last  rival  to  the  affections  of  the  drunkard  was 
gone. 

When  Shame  is  lost,  almost  the  last  light-ray  of  the  soul 
is  extinguished. 

Drink  is  a  creature  of  darkness.  Like  the  fading  belle, 
she  looks  best  at  night. 

So  together  they  had  buried  the  lifeless  form  of  Shame 
out  on  the  bleak  prairie.  They  tramped  in  the  earth 
where  they  laid  her,  until  it  was  almost  as  hard  as  rock. 
Then  they  replaced  the  sod  carefully  over  the  spot.  To 
day  the  grave  of  Shame  is  unknown  save  to  the  guilty 
pair,  and  it  is  only  admitted  in  the  soul  of  the  drunkard, 
in  those  rare  moments  when  he  is  free  from  Drink,  that 
one  day  Shame  was  missing  and  never  returned. 

"Yes,  you  and  I  beat  that  old  Kentucky  Rose,  didn't 
we,  sweet?"  said  the  mistress  of  Johnson  as  he  left  the 
saloon  and  staggered  into  the  street. 

The  drunkard's  form  weaved  unsteadily  from  side  to 
side  as  he  walked  toward  home  that  night.  Drink  and 
he  were  having  such  a  merry  time.  By  this  time  she  was 
getting  actually  hilarious  and  was  insisting  on  more  of 
the  pleasure,  causing  him  to  stop  at  almost  every  saloon  on 
the  way. 

At  the  last  one  she  was  beginning  to  be  quarrelsome. 
She  had  observed  her  old  friend,  Dregs,  stealthily  fol 
lowing  them  for  some  time.  She  had  never  as  yet  intro 
duced  Dregs  to  Johnson.  Many  times  she  had  threatened 
to  do  so,  but  somehow  she  had  put  it  off.  Why  not  do 
it  now,  she  was  feeling  so  reckless  and  gay?  It  would  be 
such  fun  to  see  how  he  would  take  it.  So  Drink  in  her 
mad  hilarity  beckoned  to  the  thing.  It  was  as  if  Satan 
had  beckoned  to  his  arch  fiend. 

Inhabiting  the  very  lowest  depths  of  the  deepest  and 
darkest  pit  within  the  soul  is  the  foul  being,  Dregs. 

Not  until  a  man  has  fed  his  system  with  liquor  for 
years,  does  it  become  possible  for  this  hideous  soul  shape 
to  tread  the  boards  of  the  Sublime  Stage.  Not  until  all 
other  phases  of  the  liquor  habit  have  been  experienced, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        319 

does  Dregs  lift  its  loathsome  head  above  the  mire  of 
Sin. 

It  is  the  last,  the  supreme  horror  which  afflicts  a  drunk 
ard,  compared  to  which,  death  in  the  most  excruciating 
and  torturing  form  possible,  is  sweet  pleasure. 

Dregs  comes  from  the  very  bottom.  It  is  the  horrible, 
crawling,  reeking  slime  which  inhabits  the  very  bottom 
of  the  Pit  of  Horrors. 

At  the  time  Drink  beckoned  to  Dregs,  Johnson  had 
nearly  lost  his  equilibrium.  He  was  staggering  fear 
fully,  going  three  steps  sidewise  to  the  one  he  advanced. 
In  fact  he  was  rapidly  losing  all  power  of  locomotion. 

It  was  after  midnight,  at  which  hour  the  saloons 
should  have  closed  according  to  law;  but  as  it  was  elec 
tion  night,  they  were  wide  open  and  undisturbed  by  the 
city  officials. 

One  block  ahead  of  the  drunkard  was  the  last  saloon 
which  he  would  pass  on  the  way  home. 

Could  he  reach  it? 

The  street  was  surging  about  him.  It  was  an  ocean 
of  which  "the  cobble-stones  were  waves.  Still  Drink, 
maddened  by  his  slowness,  was  urging  him  on. 

Dregs  crept  stealthily  forward,  and  reaching  them, 
Drink  boldly  introduced  her. 

The  thing  was  horrible.  She  was  the  foul  putridness  of 
that  life  of  which  Drink  was  the  flesh. 

Johnson  was  terrified  at  the  sight  of  the  creature, 
and  besides,  being  unable  to  navigate  further,  he  fell 
upon  the  sidewalk  writhing  helplessly  while  these  two 
fiends  urged  him  on. 

In  vain,  he  could  not  rise. 

But  Drink  was  not  to  be  denied  the  continued  pleas 
ures  of  the  bowl.    Besides,  had  not  Dregs  but  just  come,( 
and  she  too  must  be  regaled? 

The  saloon  was  only  a  few  hundred  feet  away.  Their 
victim  must  be  forced  to  reach  it  at  any  cost,  and  then, 
how  they  would  all  enjoy  the  brew. 

So  they  urged  the  drunkard  on.  Drink  soon  confess 
ing  her  inability  to  move  him,  suggested  significantly 
that  perhaps  Dregs  could. 


320        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

And  as  evidence  of  her  powers  of  persuasion,  Dregs 
pulled  forth  from  her  person  a  wriggling,  hissing  snake, 
and,  under  the  admiring  eyes  of  her  friend,  she  held  it 
toward  her  victim. 

Johnson  staggered  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  horror  as 
the  hideous  reptile  hissed  about  his  head,  and  he  moved 
forward  a  few  steps,  only  to  fall  again.  Dregs  then  moved 
the  thing  closer  to  the  drunkard,  its  revolting  green  eyes 
and  foam-frothed  fangs  creeping  closer  and  closer  to  its 
victim's  throat.  Again  Johnson  rose,  only  to  again  fall 
prostrate  and  helpless.  But  Dregs  was  pitiless,  and  Drink 
watched  the  play  in  deep  fascination. 

In  her  last  endeavor  to  drive  her  victim  to  the  saloon, 
Dregs  loosed  the  reptile  full  at  Johnson's  body.  It  wrap 
ped  its  reeking  folds  about  him  in  suffocating  smother, 
and  the  drunkard  writhed  as  he  felt  its  putrid  slime 
oozing  and  dripping  upon  his  bare  hands  forced  out  by 
the  horrible  clutching  constriction  of  the  monster.  After 
coiling  itself  tightly  about  its  victim's  body  and  throat, 
it  then  lifted  its  hideous  head  upon  a  level  with  the 
drunkard's  head  and  poured  its  foul  nauseating  breath 
full  in  his  face. 

Oh!  The  terrible  reality  and  horror  of  the  Tremens 
to  the  poor  inebriate. 

Yet  the  Tremens  is  only  one  of  the  countless  creatures 
of  Thought.  Only  one  of  the  innumerable  players  who 
do  their  turn  unspeakable,  upon  the  Sublime  Stage  of  the 
Theatre  Terrible. 

Johnson's  shrieks  rang  out  again  and  again  in  dread 
ful  agony.  A  white  froth  gushed  from  his  mouth,  and 
he  writhed  upon  the  pavement  in  convulsions,  clutching 
wildly  at  his  reptile  enveloped  throat.  Then  he  lost  con 
sciousness.  His  form  stiffened  out  in  the  filth  of  the  gut 
ter,  and  the  white  hoar-frost  of  the  early  morning  fell 
pitilessly  upon  his  distorted  features. 

The  Tremens  had  claimed  its  own. 


CHAPTER  VII 

At  midnight  Mrs.  Johnson  decided  to  go  in  search  of 
her  husband.  It  was  a  matter  of  cold,  hard  business  with 
her.  With  him  at  home  and  in  bed,  there  was  no  ex 
pense  and  no  getting  up  at  some  unearthly  hour  of  the 
morning  and  losing  that  valuable  sleep,  which  in  her 
vexation  over  his  condition  was  sure  to  result. 

Their  only  child,  Harry,  a  lad  of  ten  years,  had  been 
much  interested  in  the  election  returns  and  had  sat  up 
much  later  than  usual.  He  was  now  buried  in  a  huge 
volume  of  "Arabian  Nights"  borrowed  from  the  public 
library. 

Calling  to  him,  they  put  on  their  wraps,  checked  the 
fire,  and  together  they  left  the  house  in  search  of  the 
head  of  the  family.  A  couple  of  blocks  away  they  boarded 
a  street  car  bound  for  the  city,  Mrs.  Johnson  was  as 
familiar  with  her  husband's  haunts  as  a  farmer  is  of  the 
possible  whereabouts  of  a  stray  cow. 

She  had  questioned  the  propriety  of  taking  Harry  with 
her,  for  in  the  heart  of  this  thin-faced,  plain  little  woman 
was  a  world  of  affection  for  the  boy.  She  not  only  had 
the  mother's  natural  affection  for  him,  but  also  at  the 
time  when  she  first  fully  comprehended  the  extent  of  her 
husband's  depravity,  she  had  transferred  her  wifely  af 
fections  from  him  and  added  them  to  the  love  of  the 
mother  for  the  son. 

Harry  had  often  observed  his  father  under  the  in 
fluence  of  liquor,  but  his  feelings  of  disgust  had  to  a 
certain  degree  been  repressed  by  the  natural  affection 
which  a  child  bears  toward  a  parent. 

As  they  sat  in  the  car,  however,  Mrs.  Johnson  felt  that 
she  had  acted  wisely  in  bringing  the  lad  with  her,  for 
he  would  observe  in  his  father's  affliction  a  lesson  that 
would  forever  exempt  him  from  the  curse  of  drink.  She 

321 


322         THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

had  the  fond  hope  that  the  son  would  grow  to  be  that 
man  which  the  father  was  not. 

They  left  the  car  near  the  Silver  Dollar,  and  Mrs. 
Johnson  went  boldly  into  the  front  apartment  where 
the  cigar  stand  was  located,  and  which  was  separated 
from  the  bar  by  handsome  mahogany  doors.  One  of  the 
bartenders  observed  her  and  stepped  forward.  Harry 
was  watching  her  thru  the  window.  In  answer  to  her 
inquiry,  the  bartender  said: 

"  No,  he  is  not  here.    Left  some  time  ago." 

The  bartender  failed  to  observe  any  emotion  upon 
her  face,  and  there  was  no  sympathy  lost  between  them. 

As  she  left  the  saloon  Harry  joined  her  and  they 
started  over  the  same  route  which  Johnson  had  navi 
gated  so  unsteadily  an  hour  or  so  previous.  She  stopped 
at  every  saloon  on  the  way,  and  made  the  same  inquiry, 
Harry  remaining  outside  and  half  shivering  in  the  keen, 
frosty  air  of  the  morning.  The  little  fellow  was  very 
proud  of  his  mother's  confidence,  and  as  she  came  out 
of  each  place  he  took  her  hand  protectingly  in  his  as 
they  trudged  up  the  street.  Finally  they  reached  the 
last  saloon  which  intervened  between  them  and  home. 
It  was  the  one  which  the  drunkard  had  so  vainly  tried  to 
reach  while  in  the  clutch  of  the  Tremens. 

"No,"  replied  the  bartender,  "he  has  not  been  here 
this  evening." 

"  Strange,"  she  mused,  "he  was  at  the  place  just  be 
fore  this.  Perhaps  he  has  passed  us  and  is  at  home  by 
this  time." 

She  had  often  taken  him  from  this  same  place.  Once 
the  bartender  had  tried  to  deceive  her.  But  upon  threat 
ening  him  with  arrest  if  he  did  not  tell  her  the  truth, 
he  had  finally  given  in,  and  she  had  found  her  spouse 
stowed  away  in  the  rear  of  the  place  under  a  billiard 
table.  The  proprietor  had  never  deceived  her  since,  and 
his  word  was  to  be  trusted  now. 

"He  must  have  gone  home  while  we  were  coming 
down  on  the  car,"  she  thought,  as  they  stood  in  front 
of  the  saloon  deliberating.  But  as  Harry's  keen  eyes 
glanced  down  the  street  he  saw  something  lying  in  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        323 

gutter,  where  a  beam  from  the  street  lamp  chanced  to 
play  upon  it.  His  mother's  eyes  eagerly  followed  his 
pointing  finger. 

"No!"  she  thought,  "It  cannot  be  him.  She  had 
never  found  him  in  the  gutter  before.  Must  this  last 
crowning  disgrace  be  heaped  upon  her?" 

They  walked   carefully   forward. 

It  was  undoubtedly  the  form  of  a  man. 

The  poor  woman  nerved  herself,  but  Harry  still  clasp 
ing  her  hand  shrank  back  from  the  sight.  Releasing 
his  hand  she  stooped  down.  To  her  unspeakable  horror, 
it  was,  indeed,  her  husband. 

She  felt  his  pulse.  He  was  alive.  She  shook 
him.  He  was  unconscious.  His  mouth  was  covered 
with  a  froth  that  had  frozen,  and  which  clung  in  an  icy 
fringe  to  his  faded  mustache.  The  expression  on  his 
face  was  ghastly  and  terrifying. 

"Look — look,  son,"  she  whispered  fearfully,  as  Harry 
pressed  timidly  forward. 

"Drink!  Drink!  Oh,  my  God!"  she  moaned  wildly, 
and  the  little  fellow's  eyes  opened  wide  with  horror. 

They  could  not  hope  to  get  him  home  in  that  con 
dition  without  a  cab.  She  would  go  to  the  saloon  and 
ring  for  one.  But  Harry  would  not  stay  beside  his  father 
while  she  did  so,  for  his  heart  was  terror-struck. 

Under  the  circumstances  they  returned  to  the  saloon 
together  and  the  bartender  rang  for  a  cab.  Soon  they 
heard  it  approaching  and  they  went  out  to  the  curb.  As 
it  stopped  in  front  of  them,  they  pointed  to  the  prostrate 
form,  and  the  driver  drove  to  it. 

As  they  drove  home  Harry's  eyes  opened  wide  with 
wonder.  The  ride  in  the  cab  was  a  great  novelty  and 
he  looked  up  at  his  mother  and  smiled  boy  fashion ;  then 
observing  his  father's  bloated,  distorted  features  he  shud 
dered. 

The  cab  driver  helped  them  into  the  house  with  their 
burden,  and  after  paying  him  they  put  the  inebriate  to 
bed. 

Harry  had  taken  off  his  clothes,  and  he  came  in  his 
night-gown  to  where  his  mother  was  sitting  peering  into 


324        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  dim  firelight.  He  climbed  up  into  her  lap  and  put 
his  arms  about  her  neck.  As  he  looked  into  her  face  its 
expression  almost  terrified  him  and  he  began  to  snuffle, 
and  soon  was  sobbing  upon  her  breast  copiously.  She 
held  him  close,  and  once  in  a  while  as  she  looked  into  the 
firelight,  a  big  tear  would  trickle  down  over  her  own  worn, 
thin  cheek  and  drop  upon  the  lad's  gown. 

"Mama,  where— where  is  God?"  the  boy  said  sud 
denly,  -checking  his  tears. 

"God — God?"  she  repeated  questioningly,  wonderingly 
to  herself,  "  Why,  God  lives  in  heaven,  darling." 

"  Well,  where  is  heaven,  then,  mama,"  he  persisted. 

She  felt  that  she  could  not  answer.  A  child's  question 
often  confounds  the  wisdom  of  the  sage. 

"Why  do  you  ask,  Harry?"  she  said  evasively. 

"  Because  I'm  going  to  tell  him  about  "papa,"  he  re 
plied  determinedly. 

"  You  look  for  him  in  your  dreams  then,  to-night,  and 
perhaps  you  will  find  him,"  she  answered,  and  soon 
she  felt  his  form  droop  in  slumber  and  she  carried  him 
to  bed.  As  she  tucked  him  away  he  was  fast  asleep. 
Perhaps  in  that  innocent  slumber  his  tiny  thought  was 
exploring  the  boundless  infinite  for  the  great  and  all- 
merciful  God. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

As  Standish  sat  in  his  office  the  afternoon  of  the  day 
following  the  election,  his  secretary,  who  was  forced  to 
act  as  general  utility  man  during  Johnson's  absence, 
ushered  in  Mrs.  Johnson.  Standish  instantly  recognized 
her  and  offered  her  a  chair.  She  sat  wearily  down  in  it 
and  Standish  could  see  that  she  was  full  of  trouble. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  this  afternoon,  Mrs.  John 
son  ?"  he  asked  kindly.  • 

"I  came  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  Mr.  Johnson  is  sick  in 
bed  and  won't  be  able  to  work  for  several  days,"  she  re 
plied,  looking  up  furtively. 

Her  husband's  unconquerable  liquor  habit  had  lost 
him  so  many  positions  that  she  did  not  doubt  but  that 
his  services  would  likewise  be  dispensed  with  at  this 
place.  Then  would  come  the  terrible  days  of  unpaid 
grocery  bills  and  protesting  landlords  demanding  the 
long  overdue  rent.  The  patching  and  re-patching  of 
Harry's  threadworn  clothes,  and  the  quieting  of  his 
boyish  discontent  as  he  saw  other  boys  well  dressed  with 
plenty  of  nickels  and  dimes  jingling  in  their  pock 
ets.  Lastly,  and  even  more  terrifying,  certain  familiar 
loose  tongued  neighbor  women,  who  would  visit  her  reg 
ularly  and  remark  upon  the  oft  repeated  calls  of  cred 
itors  and  collection  agents  who  would  throng  the  doorway 
of  their  cottage. 

How  much  money  her  fallen  husband  had  put  down 
his  throat  in  the  form  of  liquor,  God  alone  knew.  Enough 
at  any  rate,  to  have  made  them  independent  several  times 
over,  and  have  given  them  a  competency  and  a  home. 

But  vain,  perishing  thought  of  prosperity  and  peace. 
And  so  the  little  woman  was  prepared  to  again  bare  her 
bleeding  breast  to  the  gnawing  teeth  of  the  wolf.  But 
somehow  as  she  looked  into  the  mine  owner's  kindly  face, 
she  felt  she  was  gazing  into  the  countenance  of  a  good 

325 


326        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

true  man,  one  of  that  kind  of  whom  she  had  often 
dreamed.  There  was  certainly  no  doubt  about  it,  but 
then,  she  had  looked  into  other  kindly  faces  besides  this 
one,  and  it  had  always  been  the  same.  The  kindness, 
patience,  and  endurance  of  her  husband's  employers  had 
been  exhausted  in  the  end,  resulting  in  his  ignominious 
dismissal,  and  again  the  hopeless  struggle  of  the  wife  to 
make  ends  meet. 

The  poor  woman  rose  mechanically  from  her  chair 
after  she  had  delivered  her  message.  At  the  most  she 
hoped  that  Mr.  Brown  would  not  question  her  —  that  she 
might  leave  the  office  undisturbed,  and  that  her  husband 
might  recover  sufficiently  in  the  next  few  days  to  re 
sume  his  work  at  least  for  a  little  while  longer.  But 
alas,  as  she  started  for  the  door,  Standish  spoke  to  her. 

"Oh ,  Mrs.  Johnson,"  he  said,  "Please  don't 

hurry,"  and  with  a  low  sigh  she  turned  and  stood  irreso 
lutely  before  him. 

"Now  don't  you  worry  about  anything,  Mrs.  John 
son,"  he  continued,  "Tell  Gus  to  take  plenty  of  time, 
and  not  to  come  back  to  work  until  he  feels  like  it.  Have 
you  plenty  of  money  and  things  to  do  with?"  he  added 
earnestly. 

She  nodded  her  head  affirmatively. 

"  If  you  haven't,  I  will  gladly  advance  you  all  you  want 
All  I  ask  of  you,  Mrs.  Johnson,  is  to  take  life  as  easy 
as  possible.  You  don't  look  overly  strong,  and  perhaps 
you  ought  to  hire  a  nurse  to  look  after  Gus.  Let's  see, 
I'll  advance  you  his  salary  for  the  first  half  of  the  month," 
and  turning  to  his  desk  he  started  to  write  out  a  check 
for  the  amount,  when  another  thought  struck  him. 

"You  see,  Mrs.  Johnson,  I  feel  pretty  good  over  the 
results  of  yesterday's  election  and  I  suppose  Gus  must 
have  been  pleased  at  the  defeat  of  his  old  employer.  Well, 
I'll  just  make  out  this  check  for  an  extra  hundred 
to  show  Gus  how  good  I  feel  about  our  victory.  You  had 
better  deposit  it  with  some  bank,  Mrs.  Johnson,  and 
draw  it  out  as  you  need  it,  because  one  doesn't  want  much 
money  lying  about  in  these  days  of  robberies  and  hold 
ups." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        327 

As  he  handed  her  the  check  and  smiled  indulgently 
down  on  her  she  could  scarcely  contain  herself. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  thank  you,"  she  exclaimed  as  she 
turned  toward  the  door  again,  and  he  escorted  her  to  the 
elevator.  If  he  could  have  seen  the  expression  on  her 
countenance  when  she  reached  the  street  and  had  time 
to  really  grasp  her  situation  and  gaze  upon  the  gener 
ous  check  unobserved,  he  would  have  seen  the  first  gleam 
of  light  that  had  illumed  her  Avorn  features  for  many 
a  long  day. 

Standish  thoroly  believed  in  doing  good,  in  being 
charitable  as  one  went  thru  life.  During  the  long  hours 
of  thought  which  he  had  spent  upon  the  subjects  of  char 
ity  and  philanthropy,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  if 
every  one  conscientiously  administered  to  the  individual 
cases  which  came  under  their  own  observance,  that  the 
scriptures  would  be  fulfilled  to  the  letter. 

If  all  men  administered  to  every  legitimate  demand 
made  upon  them  in  the  name  of  duty  and  charity,  the 
unfortunate  would  always  be  provided  for,  and  the  bur 
den  be  equally  distributed  among  all  men.  Strong  in  this 
truth,  he  had  vowed  that  he  would  do  his  share  at  least; 
and  assist  every  case  of  charity  that  came  under  his  own 
personal  observation  and  take  care  of  as  many  more  as 
God  gave  him  the  means  to  do. 


BOOK  THREE 

THE  MEASURE  OF  A  PAUNCH 


CHAPTER  I 

IN  1902,  Theodore  Dodge  stood  at  bay.     The  seven 
teen    years    of   his   active    career   in   Colorado   had 
brought  him  to  the  most  critical  period  of  his  busi 
ness  life.     For  altho  he  was  a  man  of  very  aggressive 
disposition,  and  had  proven  himself  adroit,  resourceful, 
and  masterful  in  the  development  and  management  of 
the  various  enterprises  with  which  he  had  been  identi 
fied;  yet  he  had  displayed  a  creative,  professional  genius 
rather  than  that  of  the  fighting  staying  qualities  of  the 
successful  financier. 

After  he  had  placed  the  Sampson-Smith  upon  a  divi 
dend-paying  basis,  Thomas  Bayard  had  brought  him  to 
Denver  and  made  him  the  general  manager  of  the  various 
mining  properties  which  Bayard  and  his  associates  had 
consolidated  under  the  control  of  one  large  corporation. 
The  young  Ohioan  after  several  years  of  hard  work  had 
made  good  on  the  proposition,  and  had  won  the  esteem 
and  confidence  of  his  employers  to  the  highest  degree. 
Then  came  the  construction  and  building  of  the  Missouri 
and  Colorado  smelter,  of  which  Thomas  Bayard  was  the 
chief  promoter  and  financial  genius,  and  Theodore  Dodge 
the  builder  and  engineer. 

In  1899,  however,  when  the  Smelter  Trust  absorbed  the 
Missouri  and  Colorado,  Dodge  felt  that  his  career  in  the 
smelting  business  was  over;  for  the  Guggenhones,  who 
controlled  the  Trust,  had  left  no  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
the  old  Missouri  and  Colorado  magnates,  but  that  the 
Guggenhone  control  of  smelting  affairs  was  to  be  abso 
lutely  supreme.  Mayer  Guggenhone  and  his  seven  sons 

329 


330        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

intended  to  be  to  silver  what  Carnegie  was  to  steel; 
the  Rothschilds  to  copper;  Havemeyer  to  sugar;  Rockefel 
ler  to  oil. 

Mayer  Guggenhone,  originally  a  modest  Philadelphia 
lacemaker,  had  founded  a  great  house,  which  was  to  be 
perpetuated  in  America  by  the  consolidated  efforts  of 
himself  and  his  seven  worthy  sons,  as  was  founded  the 
famous  house  of  the  Rothschilds  in  Europe. 

When  Theodore  Dodge  first  came  in  contact  with  young 
Solomon  Guggenhone,  he  felt  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  that  he  had  met  a  personality  that  was  decidedly 
his  superior,  at  least  in  a  business  way. 

The  suave,  cool,  irresistible,  and  masterful  acquisitive 
instinct  of  the  young  Jew,  completely  blanketed  the  sen 
sitive,  professional,  creative  atmosphere  of  the  Ohioan; 
who  had  the  intolerable  feeling  in  the  presence  of  the 
young  smelter  king,  that  he  would  brook  no  equal  in 
smelting  affairs,  much  less  a  superior.  Rule,  kingship, 
absolute  dominion,  being  indelibly  stamped  upon  the 
features  and  implanted  within  the  soul  of  Solomon  Gug 
genhone^  Altho  Dodge  had  readily  and  pleasantly  ac 
quiesced  in  this  supremacy,  yet  such  was  his  acute  indis 
position  to  become  a  mere  subordinate  in  a  business 
where  he  had  once  been  so  prominent,  that  he  prepared 
to  sell  out  his  entire  holdings  in  Smelter  and  devote  him 
self  to  other  interests. 

For  several  years  he  had  been  interested  in  a  steel  plant 
located  at  Trineblo,  which  had  gradually  developed  from 
a  small  struggling  foundry,  to  an  extensive  plant  that 
began  to  furnish  the  Inter-mountain  region  with  steel 
rails  and  structural  iron;  and  whose  able  and  enterpris 
ing  management  had  purchased  for  a  mere  pittance, 
great  tracts  of  coal  lands  in  Colorado  and  adjoining  states, 
amounting  to  nearly  six  hundred  square  miles ;  a  domain 
'that  overshadowed  the  entire  anthracite  field  of  Pennsyl 
vania.  The  concern  also  owned  dozens  of  limestone  quar 
ries,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  acres  of  iron  and  man 
ganese  lands  in  Colorado,  Wyoming,  New  Mexico,  and 
Utah;  and  had  acquired  scores  of  valuable  water  rights, 
and  enormous  interests  in  numerous  other  natural  re- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         331 

sources  of  the  West.  In  fact,  experts  had  calculated  that 
two  hundred  and  fifty  million  was  a  low  estimate  of  the 
actual  value  of  the  great  and  as  yet  almost  undeveloped 
properties  of  the  Colorado  Steel  Corporation. 

As  far  back  as  1890  Dodge  had  become  interested  in 
Colorado  Steel,  and  later,  as  he  began  to  realize  the  vast 
natural  resources  which  this  infant  corporation  was  grad 
ually  acquiring  for  insignificant  sums,  he  had  invested 
quite  heavily  in  its  stocks  and  bonds,  until,  in  1895,  his 
holdings  entitled  him  to  a  place  upon  the  board  of  di 
rectors.  By  1898,  he  and  his  associates  were  almost  in 
control  of  the  corporation,  having  lacked  only  a  few  votes 
to  control  the  election  held  that  year.  And  when,  in  the 
latter  part  of  1900,  he  had  succeeded  in  disposing  of  his 
entire  holdings  in  American  Smelter,  and  went  into  the 
open  market  and  purchased  all  Colorado  Steel  that  was 
offered,  he  owned  personally  on  the  first  day  of  January, 
1901,  fully  one  third  of  the  entire  capital  stock  of  the 
concern.  This  made  him  by  far  the  largest  individual 
stockholder  of  Colorado  Steel,  and  he  secured  enough 
proxies  from  his  friends  to  enable  him  to  control  the 
election  of  that  year,  and  he  became  its  president. 

Early  in  1902,  however,  at  a  time  when  he  had  scarcely 
gotten  a  firm  seat  in  the  presidential  saddle,  he  suddenly 
became  aware  that  a  new  and  powerful  combination  was 
forming  to  wrest  from  him  and  his  loyal  associates  the 
control  of  Colorado  Steel.  The  thought  was  maddening 
to  him,  for  in  his  rich  anticipations  of  the  active  per 
sonal  management  of  the  corporation  he  had  fairly  rev 
eled,  the  corporation  having  by  this  time  achieved  a 
fame  and  opulence  which  made  it  a  power  in  the  West, 
and  it  had  also  established  a  sufficient  name  in  the  East 
to  be  listed  on  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange.  Suddenly 
this  concern  which  had  passed  for  years  as  an  insignificant 
dabbler  in  the  coke  and  steel  industry,  became  a  giant 
and  influential  corporation  of  national  repute.  As  finan 
ciers  and  experts  examined  its  enormous  undeveloped 
resources,  they  became  amazed,  and  the  stock  of  the  cor 
poration  leaped  by  spurts  and  bounds  far  above  the  low 
price  it  had  maintained  for  years. 


332        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Quite  in  the  spirit  of  that  period,  when  industrials  of 
all  kinds  were  swelling  to  enormous  dimensions  in  a  vain 
endeavor  to  keep  pace  with  the  demands  of  both  legitimate 
trade  and  undue  speculation,  it  had  been  frequently 
rumored  that  the  United  States  Steel  Corporation  was 
about  to  absorb  this  young  giant  of  the  West;  and  that, 
not  being  able  to  corner  its  stock,  it  was  going  to  crush 
the  concern  by  invading  the  West  with  a  greatly  cheapened 
product.  During  the  spring  of  1902  the  stock  of  Colorado 
Steel  rose  and  fell  nervously.  Some  one,  some  power,  was 
certainly  manipulating  it.  Bidding  up  the  price  to  coax 
it  out  on  the  market,  and  then  shoving  it  down  a  few 
points  to  scare  timid  stockholders  into  a  selling  mood. 

Dodge's  New  York  brokers  constantly,  endeavored  to  lo 
cate  the  source  of  this  manipulation,  but  without  suc 
cess.  So  soon  after  being  driven  from  the  smelting  busi 
ness  by  the  invasion  of  an  Eastern  crowd  in  the  per 
sons  of  the  Guggenhones,  Dodge  was  now  twisting  and 
turning  again  upon  the  spit  of  Finance,  being  unmerci 
fully  squeezed  by  the  remorseless  silent  pressure  of  another 
Eastern  crowd,  who  evidently  intended  to  wrest  from  him 
the  control  of  Colorado  Steel. 

Unfortunately  for  Dodge,  it  was  in  just  such  a  cir 
cumstance  that  he  usually  lacked  nerve,  combativeness, 
the  ability  to  take  punishment.  He  had  obtained  con 
trol  of  Colorado  Steel  with  comparative  ease.  No  one 
had  actively  opposed  him.  In  fact  he  had  been  warmly 
welcomed  by  nearly  all  the  interests  of  the  concern, 
coming  as  he  did  with  the  prestige  of  his  brilliant  suc 
cess  as  a  creative  administrative  genius  in  smelting  affairs. 
Had  he  met  with  any  decided  opposition,  he  probably 
would  never  have  macle  the  attempt  at  control,  but  as  it 
was,  he  slipped  into  the  office  of  president  with  compara 
tive  ease. 

Almost  devoid  of  that  rapacious  instinct  of  the  typical 
American  trust  magnate,  Dodge  was  evasive,  and  pre 
ferred  sliding  over  or  around  opposition,  rather  than  beat 
ing  it  down  by  that  sheer  brute  force  which  characterizes 
the  unholy  warfare  of  many  of  our  prominent  million 
aires.  If  he  could  not  evade  the  issue,  he  preferred  to 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        333 

retire  or  run  away,  rather  than  close  in  mortal  combat. 
Thus  in  the  fierce  battle  of  American  finance  he  was  la 
boring  under  an  almost  fatal  handicap,  for  there  are  times 
in  the  critical  mazes  of  the  fight  that  men  must  stand 
by  their  guns,  and  must  both  deliver  and  receive  hard 
lusty  blows;  requiring  frequently,  the  delicate  finesse 
of  a  Talleyrand;  at  other  times,  the  grim  blood  and  iron 
policy  of  a  Bismarck.  Therefore  the  battle  often  becomes 
one  of  sheer  brute  force,  in  which  the  man  with  the 
biggest  bag  of  dollars  is  declared  the  victor. 

Just  such  a  battle  as  this  was  rapidly  coming  to  a 
head  in  the  affairs  of  Colorado  Steel.  A  great  brute  force, 
with  a  huge  bag  of  dollars,  was  threatening  to  destroy 
the  peace  and  prosperity  of  one  of  Colorado's  greatest 
corporations  and  irrevocably  bind  it  to  its  own  selfish 
purposes. 

Soon  it  became  evident  that  Dodge  must  either  fight 
or  run ;  finally  it  became  even  more  evident  to  him,  that 
much  as  he  preferred,  he  could  not  run ;  he  would  have  to 
make  a  stand  and  fight.  His  entire  interests,  his  repu 
tation,  his  prestige,  the  money  of  his  friends ;  and<  lastly, 
his  very  heart  and  soul  were  centered  in  the  existence 
and  control  of  Colorado  Steel.  Yes,  he  would  fight. 
He  would  battle  to  the  death,  either  to  emerge  triumphant 
with  renewed  prestige  and  maintained  excellence  of  rep 
utation,  or  be  forever  buried  in  the  ruin  of  his  idol. 

For  months  Dodge  fought  with  the  cunning  of  a  fox 
to  obtain  proxies  for  the  coming  election.  Occasionally 
his  brokers  tested  the  market  with  high-priced  offer 
ings,  but  nothing  came  out.  Whenever  any  of  the  stock 
did  appear  on  the  market  it  was  instantly  bid  up  to 
prohibitive  values  by  the  opposition.  Indeed  very  little  of 
it  was  offered,  for  the  opposition  had  long  since  gathered 
in  nearly  all  of  the  holdings  of  the  smaller  stockholders. 
When  the  battle  for  stock  was  finally  finished  in  the  open 
market,  the  mystery  of  the  secret  opposition  was  re 
vealed  in  the  person  of  the  redoubtable  John  Wreckor 
Grabbe,  who  fresh  from  his  raid  on  L.  and  N.,  was  fol 
lowing  his  usual  tactics  in  the  game  of  Colorado  Steel; 
having  apparently  conceived  the  idea  of  buying  up  the 


334        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

stock,  obtaining  control,  and  then  disposing  of  it  at  a 
greatly  advanced  figure  to  the  United  States  Steel  Corpora 
tion,  the  greatest  industrial  octopus  of  the  nation.  In 
fact,  Grabbe  claimed  in  his  press  interviews  at  the  time, 
that  he  had  obtained  a  tip  from  the  First  Citizen*,  himself; 
that  it  would  be  a  nice  arrangement  to  obtain  control  of 
Colorado  Steel  before  it  got  too  big,  and  thus  bind  the 
domination  of  the  United  States  Steel  Corporation  su 
preme  upon  everything  in  the  nation  that  spelled  steel. 

Concealing  his  actions  among  a  score  or  more  of  brok 
ers,  Grabbe  had  carefully  organized  his  attack  and  slowly 
and  insidiously  secured  large  blocks  of  Colorado  Steel 
almost  unobserved  by  the  management  of  the  concern. 
But  when  the  fight  for  proxies  was  on  he  could  no  longer 
conceal  his  identity ;  and  he  stood  in  the  mental  vision  of 
Theodore  Dodge,  a  figure  of  remorseless,  menacing,  brute 
power. 


•NOTE. — The  first  citizen  of  the  United  States  at  this  time, 
being  conceded  by  portions  of  the  press  as  centering  in  the  person 
of  James  Pierpont  Morgan. 


CHAPTER  II 

Mrs.  Theodore  Dodge  settled  herself  comfortably  in  the 
luxurious  drawing-room  of  the  "Endymion,"  which,  at 
tached  to  the  "Burlington's  No.  1,"  was  coursing  smoothly 
over  a  perfect  roadbed  thru  the  pleasant  flower  embow 
ered  suburbs  of  Chicago.  She  had  arrived  on  the  "Penn 
sylvania"  from  New  York  early  that  morning,  and  after 
a  little  shopping  at  "Marshall  Field's"  she  had  taken  the 
superb  afternoon  flyer  of  the  Burlington  for  Denver. 

Annette,  the  maid,  after  arranging  the  wraps  and  toi 
let  articles  of  her  mistress,  had  seated  herself  in  one  of 
the  two  wicker  parlor  chairs  with  which  the  drawing- 
room  was  furnished,  and  with  her  daintily  slippered  feet 
cocked  up  on  the  edge  of  the  window,  was  deeply  buried 
in  the  depths  of  a  magazine.  Occasionally  she  raised 
her  head,  which  was  neatly  dressed  in  a  white  lace  cap,  to 
gaze  out  on  the  green  fields  and  white  farmhouses,  as  the 
swift  moving  train  sped  by  them  on  its  arrow-like  flight 
across  the  long,  flat  meadows  of  Illinois. 

Mollie  Rogan  Dodge  was  returning  to  Colorado  after  an 
absence  of  nearly  four  years.  She  had  spent  much  of 
that  time  in  London  with  her  bosom  friends,  Mrs.  New 
man  and  Mrs.  Walch,  who  were  acknowledged  leaders  in 
London's  smart  set,  and  who  were  the  wives  of  two  of 
Colorado's  wealthiest  mining  men.  Occasionally  the  trio 
would  visit  the  American  colonies  in  Paris,  Florence  and 
other  continental  centers;  and  the  swift,  gay  and  lux 
urious  years  had  sped  by  in  greeting  and  feasting  that 
wealthy,  aristocratic,  and  pleasure-loving  society  of  the 
"States,"  which  annually  crosses  the  pond  to  do  Merry 
England  and  the  Continent. 

Several  times  Mollie  had  left  the  gay  circle  in  London, 
spending  a  few  weeks  touring  Ireland  and  Wales.  She 
visited  many  of  the  spots  which  her  dear  old  mother  had 
so  often  mentioned  in  their  discussions  of  the  Emerald 

335 


336        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Isle,  and  memories  had  flowed  sweetly  in  on  the  Col 
orado  colleen  as  she  roamed  thru  the  quiet  villages  and 
among  the  charming  lakes  of  Hibernia.  The  soul  of  dear 
old  Mrs.  Rogan  had  long  since  passed  thru  the  Pearly 
Gates,  having  been  prayed  safely  across  the  Dark  Val 
ley  and  on  into  Paradise  with  all  the  dignity  and  gran 
deur  of  the  Roman  church  of  which  she  had  been  so  long 
a  faithful  and  sincere  communicant. 

The  years  had  treated  Mollie  kindly,  and  as  she  sat 
there  looking  dreamily  out  of  the  car  window,  she  ap 
peared  almost  as  fresh  and  attractive  as  when  she  became 
the  bride  of  Theodore  Dodge.  True,  her  cheeks  had  lost 
some  of  the  bloom  of  youth,  but  the  secrets  of  the  toilet 
had  preserved  her  once  naturally  beautiful  skin,  into  a 
soft,  velvety,  pink-tinted,  fresh  complexion  that  was  at 
once  charming  and  attractive.  Her  once  plump  and  rosy 
hands  had  become  somewhat  thinned,  and  slightly  be 
trayed  the  •coarse  fingers  of  her  hard-working  ances 
tors,  but  even  that  defect  was  cleverly  concealed  by  the 
art  of  the  manicure,  thru  a  perfect  manipulation  of  the 
fingers  and  the  careful  fashioning  of  the  exquisitely  tinted 
and  curved  finger  nails. 

Fate  had  decreed  that  Mrs.  Dodge  was  never  to  become 
a  mother,  and  Theodore  and  she  had  buried  their  dis 
appointment  in  that  hope  in  the  participation  of  all  the 
other  joys  which  life  afforded.  Her  husband  lived  very 
close  to  his  business.  He  scorned  a  life  of  travel  and 
ease,  and,  like  many  other  American  business  men,  rather 
than  lose  a  few  precious  moments  of  the  swift  million 
accumulating  life  of  the  New  World,  he  bound  himself 
to  his  business  by  prodigious  labor,  content  to  furnish  his 
wife  with  wealth  and  the  means  to  travel,  while  he  re 
mained  at  home  with  his  idol — business. 

Mrs.  Dodge  had  been  much  worried  of  late  by  news 
paper  and  cable  accounts  of  the  great  fight  that  was  on 
in  Colorado  Steel.  Her  husband  had  never  directly  men 
tioned  the  strain  of  the  battle  in  his  letters,  but  between 
the  lines,  the  wife's  quick  intuition  could  read  his  troub 
led  condition ;  and  one  day  in  the  midst  of  the  gay  Lon 
don  whirl  she  had  suddenly  awoke  to  the  fact,  that  with 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        337 

her  brave  husband  in  the  thick  of  a  great  financial  bat 
tle,  the  place  of  a  true  and  loving  wife  was  at  his  side, 
to  lighten  with  her  presence  and  love  the  weight  of  the 
conflict.  So,  hurriedly  getting  her  traps  together,  she  em 
barked  for  New  York  on  the  first  steamer,  and  once  safely 
ashore  in  Gotham,  had  immediately  sought  her  husband's 
brokers  for  the  latest  news  of  the  battle. 

She  found  them  in  a  state  of  great  uncertainty.  Her 
husband,  having  been  outpointed  in  the  contest  for  proxies, 
and  who  was  apparently  facing  positive  defeat  at  the  hands 
of  John  Wreckor  Grabbe — who  probably  held  enough 
proxies  to  control  the  coming  election — had  filed  an  applica 
tion  with  the  United  States  Court  in  Denver  to  have  the 
regular  corporation  election  postponed,  alleging  a  con 
spiracy  of  certain  stockholders  to  control  the  election. 
Thus  her  husband  had  averted  for  a  time  at  least,  the 
defeat  which  at  first  seemed  so  certain.  However,  Grabbe 
and  his  associates  were  making  a  fierce  fight  in  the  courts, 
and  it  was  only  a  question  of  time  when  the  election  of 
officers  by  the  stockholders  of  the  corporation  would  be 
declared  in  order  by  the  court  and  the  thing  settled  for 
good.  The  brokers  assured  her,  however,  that  her  hus 
band  having  thru  this  move  gained  considerable  time,  was 
making  every  effort  to  strengthen  his  forces  and  had  by 
no  means  given  up  the  battle.  With  this  information, 
Mrs.  Dodge  lost  no  time,  and  had  taken  the  first  train 
for  the  West. 

How  she  was  enjoying  this  last  portion  of  her  jour 
ney.  The  great  Baldwin  was  eating  up  the  miles  with 
swift  regularity,  those  long  miles  which  lay  between  her 
and  that  magic  place — home. 

After  a  quick  run  from  Chicago,  the  train  stopped  at 
Galesburg  for  orders.  The  huge  Baldwin  was  breathing 
heavily  in  the  short  respite,  the  valves  of  the  air-pump 
wheezing  with  a  fierce  "chug-chug,"  as  it  recharged  the 
exhausted  cylinder  with  the  mighty  force  which  controlled 
the  heavy  brakes  of  the  train. 

Presently  the  conductor,  resplendent  in  gold  braid  and 
buttons,  emerged  from  the  telegraph  office  motioning  to 
the  brakeman  to  pull  the  air  signal ;  and  an  instant  later 


338        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  engineer,  giving  the  required  hissing,  ear  splitting  air 
test,  and  obeying  the  two  sharp,  "Go  ahead,"  blasts  of  the 
air  whistle,  pulled  the  throttle ;  and  the  heavy  train  steamed 
slowly  thru  the  long  yards,  and  was  soon  running  with 
a  fine  burst  of  speed  toward  Monmouth  and  the  distant 
West. 

The  porter  pressed  the  electric  button  of  drawing-room 
"A,"  and  Annette  answered  the  bell. 

"First  call  for  dinner,  ma'am,"  he  said  politely.  She 
bowed  and  closed  the  door. 

"What  is  it,  Annette?"  her  mistress  inquired  languidly. 

"First  call  for  zee  dinner,  madame,"  she  replied. 

"You  may  arrange  my  hair  then,  pretty  one,"  re 
marked  Mollie;  and  while  Annette  made  the  necessary 
preparations  and  took  down  the  heavy  shining  mass  of 
raven  black  locks  of  her  mistress,  Mollie  continued  her 
gaze  out  of  the  window,  her  mind  filled  with  many 
thoughts  of  her  home-coming. 

As  Mrs.  Dodge  entered  the  diner  she  recognized  the 
junior  United  States  Senator  from  Colorado,  who  was 
seated  by  himself  at  one  of  the  center  tables  intently  pe 
rusing  a  mass  of  newspaper  clippings,  which  probably 
represented  an  instalment  of  interesting  matter  sent  him 
by  the  editor-in-chief  of  the  great  Rocky  Mountain  daily 
of  which  the  senator  was  the  sole  owner. 

Mrs.  Dodge,  delightfully  expectant,  instantly  stepped 
forward  to  his  table. 

"May  I?"  she  asked  archly,  placing  her  hand  upon 
the  chair  opposite  the  senator  as  he  suddenly  looked  up. 

"Why — why,  Mrs.  Dodge!"  he  said,  rising  and  cor 
dially  extending  his  hand,  "I  am  delighted  to  see  you. 
This  is  a  pleasure  I  did  not  expect  when  I  left  Wash 
ington." 

As  she  smilingly  seated  herself  the  senator  quickly 
gathered  up  the  mass  of  papers  he  had  been  reading,  and 
thrust  them  in  hopeless  confusion  into  his  coat  pocket 
much  to  her  amusement,  but  quite  to  his  great  satisfac 
tion,  for  his  kindly  face  beamed  the  heartiest  compan 
ionship  imaginable. 

He  had  evidently  just  finished  the  first  course  of  the 


339 

dinner,  and  he  gallantly  postponed  the  second  until  Mrs. 
Dodge  began  hers.  For  some  time  they  discussed  affairs 
of  mutual  interest,  and  then  she  sounded  him  quite  point 
edly  on  Colorado  Steel. 

"  Theodore  is  putting  up  a  great  fight,"  he  said  in  re 
ply.  "But  this  man  Grabbe  is  certainly  a  terror.'  He 
beat  out  the  Belmont  interests  in  that  L.  &  N.  affair, 
and  it  took  Morgan  himself  to  straighten  out  the  muddle. 
Grabbe  must  have  cleaned  up  at  least  two  million  in  that 
raid,  and  in  this  affair,  the  rogue  is  following  much  the 
same  tactics,  altho  he  found  Theodore  by  no  means 
asleep.  You  see  it  was  this  way — quite  a  number  of  our 
people,  attracted  by  the  high  prices  offered  on  the  New 
York  Exchange,  let  their  holdings  of  Colorado  Steel  go,  or 
we  could  easily  have  shut  Grabbe  out ;  but  unfortunately, 
we  never  dreamed  of  a  deal  of  this  kind,  and — and  I 
must  acknowledge,  Mrs.  Dodge,  that  I  was  one  of  the 
suckers  who  sold.  I  had  a  hundred  shares  of  the  stock 
at  the  time,  which  I  bought  years  ago  at  twenty-seven,  and 
I  parted  with  it  for  eighty-six.  And  that's  just  the  trouble 
— that's  the  way  we  all  got  caught.  For  Grabbe's  tactics 
are,  to  make  heavy  bids  for  the  stock  he  wants,  in  order 
to  get  it  out  on  the  market;  and  then,  when  he  has 
enough  to  control  the  property,  to  hammer  it  down  and 
scare  the  balance  of  the  stockholders  into  selling  at  any 
price.  And  here  I  am,  a  close  friend  of  your  husband's 
—eager  to  do  him  a  good  turn;  and  behold  the  specta 
cle — a  poor  fool  caught  in  the  net  of  his  worst  enemy. 
Oh !  I've  already  confessed  to  him,  but  dear  boy  that  he  is, 
he  only  smiled  and  said,  "better  luck  next  time,  Tom." 

As  they  finished  the  meal  the  sun  was  sinking  behind 
the  vine-covered  bluffs  of  Iowa,  far  across  the  shining 
ripples  of  the  Mississippi;  and  excusing  herself  from  the 
very  agreeable  company  of  the  senator,  Mrs.  Dodge  re 
turned  to  her  drawing-room. 

The  farm  lads  were  turning  the  cows  into  the  rich 
meadows  after  the  evening's  milking  as  the  train  entered 
the  river  bottoms,  and  lazily  the  cattle  thrust  their  pink 
noses  into  the  sweet  tender  grasses  as  tho  fairly  satiated 
with  the  dewy  heaviness  of  the  pasture. 


340         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

The  broad,  silent  bosom  of  the  Father  of  Waters,  swelled 
by  the  June  floods  from  the  distant  lakes  of  Minnesota 
and  Wisconsin,  glittered  brightly  in  the  beams  of  the 
setting  sun.  Its  shores  were  lined  with  masses  of  dense,  green 
foliage,  and  the  majestic  stream  itself  was  dotted  with 
many  low  islands  of  waving  willows.  Far  up  the  river 
a  steamboat  could  be  seen  breasting  the  swift  current,  the 
black  smoke  was  rolling  heavily  from  its  red  funnels, 
and  a  huge  wave  of  foam  heaved  in  the  wake  of  the  great 
churning  stern-wheel 

The  rush  of  the  train  frightened  a  flock  of  water-fowl, 
and  as  they  rose  with  shrill  cries,  the  water  fell  from  their 
dripping  wings  sparkling  like  jewels  in  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun.  A  bevy  of  quail  also  rose  from  the  railroad 
right-of-way,  flying  with  quick  whirring  wings  into  a 
nearby  wheat  field.  Then  as  the  sun  finally  sank  behind 
the  Iowa  hills  in  a  great  burst  of  golden  glory,  the  long 
dreamy  shadows  of  evening  crept  over  the  landscape,  and 
thru  the  half  opened  car  windows  came  the  rich  damp 
scent  of  the  river  meadows.  Presently  the  heavy  train 
rolled  over  the  long  bridge  out  of  Illinois  into  Iowa ;  and 
soon  the  "click-click"  staccato  of  the  Pullman  wheels  and 
the  quick,  successive  flit  of  dozens  of  red  and  green 
lights,  announced  the  maze  of  switches  in  the  yards  of 
Burlington. 

Mrs.  Dodge  and  Annette  looked  long  and  dreamily  into 
the  heavy  dusk  which  fell  over  the  beautiful  Iowa  land 
scape  as  the  train  left  Burlington  and  sped  west 
ward  over  the  rolling  prairies.  In  the  far  southwest,  the 
first  sultriness  of  summer  was  displayed  in  brilliant  sheets 
of  yellowish-green  lightning,  playing  from  behind  the 
gentle  wooded  hills  that  stretched  southward  toward  the 
distant  Missouri  line.  Hundreds  of  frogs  were  croaking 
their  evening  songs  from  their  green  mottled  throats  as 
the  train  skirted  the  shores  of  a  great  slough,  which  fra 
grant  with  the  odor  of  mint,  was  the  home  of  countless  half 
budded  water-lilies  floating  gently  upon  the  rippling 
waters,  and  above  which  numerous  mouse-eyed  bats  darted 
and  flitted  in  the  deepening  shadows. 

Soon  the  darkness  settled  heavily  and  innumerable 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        341 

fireflies  flitted  beside  the  track,  beaming  their  tiny  in- 
candescents  among  the  cornfields  and  in  the  patches  of 
dark  woods  thru  which  the  train  plunged  with  a  muffled 
rush,  filling  the  car  with  the  resonant  murmurings  of 
the  startled  wind-whispering  trees. 

The  next  morning  when  Mrs.  Dodge  lifted  the  window 
shade  by  the  side  of  her  berth  and  looked  out,  the  train 
had  left  Iowa  and  was  pulling  slowly  across  a  long  bridge 
built  high  above  the  tawny  flood  of  the  Missouri. 

Will  the  ugly  Missouri  ever  be  tamed  or  softened  in  the 
flight  of  the  centuries? 

Ugh!  The  bitter  wind  which  blows  down  it  in  the 
winter  time  at  Sioux  City,  Omaha,  and  Plattsmouth, 
would  shame  the  coldest  Klondike  breeze.  One  may  go 
the  full  swing  of  the  States  from  Passamaquoddy  Bay  to 
Point  Loma,  and  never  find  a  spot  as  raw,  wild,  and  in 
hospitable,  as  this  turbulent  flow  of  the  untamed  Mis 
souri  between  the  green  hills  of  Iowa  and  the  verdured 
slopes  of  Nebraska.  It  is  today,  the  same  demoniacal, 
barbarous,  man-defying  monster,  as  when  the  intrepid 
Father  Marquette  first  viewed  its  yellow  flood  pouring 
into  the  clear  waters  of  the  Mississippi,  with  that  fierce 
roar  and  sullen  bellowing  which  the  Indians  believed 
came  from  a  demon  hidden  beneath  its  tawny  waves. 

The  Missouri. 

The  Big  Muddy. 

The  ugly  duckling  of  all  American  waterways. 

At  Lincoln,  where  No.  1  stopped  to  change  engines, 
Mrs.  Dodge  and  Annette  left  the  car  for  a  few  moments, 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  station  platform  in  the  fresh 
morning  air. 

The  railroad  employees  were  working  like  beavers. 
"Tap-tap,"  "clank-clank,"  rang  the  steel  hammers  of  the 
car  inspectors  upon  the  wheels.  A  cracked  wheel  or  tire 
might  derail  No.  1,  and  cause  the  loss  of  lives  and  perhaps 
thousands  of  dollars  to  the  Burlington.  The  wheels  must 
ring  true  or  the  car  would  be  side  tracked.  Men  came 
running  with  ladders  and  reels  of  hose  to  fill  the  ex 
hausted  water  tanks  with  fresh  water.  Others  brought 


342         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

buckets  of  ice  and  dumped  them  into  the  coolers  of  the 
drinking  water  tanks. 

At  the  dining-car,  a  red  cheeked  boy  from  the  coun 
try  was  delivering  cans  of  fresh  milk  and  cream  to  the 
negro  cooks;  and  a  portly  butcher  had  just  brought  a 
fresh  juicy  quarter  of  beef,  several  loins,  a  basket  of  fowls, 
and  other  tempting  meats  to  replenish  the  great  diner's 
larder.  The  black  smoke  was  rolling  heavily  from  the 
car's  diminutive  funnels,  and  the  colored  waiters  were 
rushing  to  and  fro  preparing  the  tables  for  breakfast,  their 
white  teeth  gleaming  in  their  ebony  faces  as  they  laughed 
and  joked.  The  appetizing  smell  of  breakfast  was  wafted 
deliciously  thru  the  diner's  kitchen  windows,  and  Mrs. 
Dodge  whiffed  it  hungrily,  the  short  walk  in  the  fresh 
air  had  given  her  an  appetite. 

The  relieving  engine  backed  down  to  the  train  and 
bumped  it  stoutly  once  or  twice  until  the  huge  couplers 
linked  properly.  Then  a  fat  engineer  in  blue  overalls 
swung  down  from  the  cab,  and  darted  the  long  slender 
stem  of  a  shining  oil-can  into  the  oil-cups  and  along 
the  bearings  of  his  steaming  leviathan.  Then  after  a 
brief  exchange  of  road  talk  and  comparison  of  watches 
with  the  engineer,  the  conductor  gave  the  signal,  the  wo 
men  boarded  the  Pullman;  and  No.  1  was  soon  rushing 
westward,  screaming  its  hoarse  warning  to  the  country 
crossings  and  plowing  thru  the  tiny  Nebraska  villages 
like  a  fiend  from  the  Inferno. 

A  few  miles  to  the  west  of  Lincoln  is  the  small  village 
of  Cornhill.  A  group  of  Nebraska  farmers  and  villagers 
were  gathered  on  the  platform  of  the  weather-beaten 
station  house  to  see  No.  1  go  by,  and  also  to  get  the  morn 
ing  papers  from  Lincoln  which  she  invariably  brought. 
Presently  they  saw  a  black  speck  moving  towards  them 
from  out  the  dewy  East,  moving  swiftly  over  twin  lines 
of  flashing  steel  which  shone  brilliantly  in  the  bright  morn 
ing  sunshine.  Soon  it  took  the  shape  of  a  gigantic  black 
serpent  which  leaped  over  the  dew-dripping  Nebraska 
prairie  spitting  forth  clouds  of  smoke  and  steam,  together 
with  showers  of  fiery  red  sparks.  Then  the  rails  in  front 
of  the  station  house  began  to  croon  and  hum  the  song 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        343 

of  the  oncoming  train,  until  it  gradually  swelled  into  a 
soul-harrowing  diapason  of  crashing  resounding  steel. 
Then  sounded  the  ponderous  "clank-clank,"  of  the  mon 
ster  drivers  of  Burlington  engine,  No.  1737,  as  they  beat 
terrifyingly  upon  the  vibrating  but  safely  enduring  rails. 

This  fiery  steel  bull  was  reeling  off  sixty-five  miles  an 
hour  easy. 

The  mail-pouch  hung  in  its  frame  at  the  far  end  of  the 
station  platform  ready  to  be  clutched  in  the  wild  em 
brace  of  the  mail-car's  steel  arms,  which  would  leap  out 
from  the  crashing  flame  spouting  cloud  of  dust,  to  sud 
denly  snatch  it  with  the  tenacity  of  a  bulldog  and  the 
trueness  of  a  watch. 

"Toot-toot,"  sounded  the  sharp  whistle. 

"  Wow — wow — ,"  shrieked  the  wind,  as  it  was  pierced 
by  the  flaming  monster. 

"  Rip ROAR ,"  came  the  flying  train. 

The  spectators  pressed  their  hats  tightly  upon  their 
heads,  and  crouched  close  to  the  side  of  the  station  house. 

"Clap — bang,"  went  the  mail-pouch  against  the  side 
of  the  car. " 

"  Crash — chuck,"  fell  the  village  pouch  hurtling  across 
the  station  platform. 

"  Clickity — clickity — click,"  sounded  the  wheels  of  the 
rear  Pullman  over  the  west  switches,  and  No.  1  had  passed 
far  down  the  track  with  eery  scream  and  roar,  swallowed 
up  in  a  cloud  of  brown  Nebraska  dust.  The  main  event 
of  the  day  in  'Cornhill  had  transpired,  and  the  sturdy 
sons  of  Nebraska  took  the  mail-pouch  to  the  grocery  store 
postoffice,  to  get  their  papers  and  read  the  latest  news 
and  editorials  of  that  great  son  of  the  west,  William  Jen 
nings  Bryan. 

All  day  No.  1  sped  across  Nebraska.  The  broad  valley 
of  the  Platte  was  one  vast  field  of  waving  wheat  and  oats, 
that  stirred  and  tossed  in  the  fresh  June  breeze  like  the 
billows  of  a  green  and  yellow  ocean. 

At  McCook,  Mrs.  Dodge  set  her  watch  one  hour  behind, 
to  conform  to  mountain  time.  It  was  a  thousand  miles 
east  to  Pittsburgh,  and  a  thousand  miles  west  to  Ogden, 
as  the  crow  flies. 


344         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

In  the  late  afternoon,  and  in  spite  of  her  enjoyable 
luncheon  and  chat  with  the  senator,  she  became  quite 
restless. 

Why  didn't  the  train  move  faster?  Could  she  have 
seen  the  speed  recorder  in  the  engine  cab  she  would 
scarcely  have  believed  that  they  were  bowling  steadily 
along  at  full  fifty  miles  an  hour.  But  such  was  the 
smoothness  of  the  heavily  ballasted  track,  that  a  goblet 
filled  with  water  standing  upon  the  table  in  her  apart 
ment,  scarcely  vibrated  with  the  gentle  motion  of  the 
train. 

No!  It  was  hardly  the  fault  of  the  Burlington  that 
Mrs.  Dodge  showed  signs  of  nameless  restlessness. 

It  was  something  else.  That  magic  something.  That 
deathless  aria,  which  Verdi  has  so  immortalized  in  "II 
Trovatore."  The  Mountains.  "Home  to  our  moun 
tains."  Ah !  "Home  to  our  mountains." 

fehe  was  watching  for  the  mountains. 

The  great  ROCKY  MOUNTAINS. 

For  hours  she  had  been  eagerly  scanning  the  western 
horizon.  She  was  getting  so  wild  to  see  them  that  she  almost 
believed  they  would  suddenly  leap  out  and  clasp  her 
in  their  arms,  and  early  in  the  afternoon  she  had  Annette 
ask  the  porter,  where  they  would  get  their  first  view  of 
the  Rockies. 

"Fo't  Mawgan,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  his  black  face 
lighting  up  with  a  broad  smile  as  he  answered  the  oft 
repeated  question  of  the  returning  Coloradoan. 

As  they  approached  Fort  Morgan,  the  train  entered  the 
beautiful  valley  of  the  South  Platte.  Here  Mrs.  Dodge  ob 
served  the  highest  corn  of  the  entire  trip.  The  shimmer 
ing  green  stalks  lifted  themselves  up  bravely,  two  feet 
or  more  above  the  rich  sandy  loam.  In  several  of  the 
fields  the  gates  of  the  irrigating  ditches  were  open,  and  the 
clear  mountain  waters,  plunging  foamingly  from  the 
brimming  sluices,  spread  slowly  over  the  brown,  fertile 
land. 

Broad  fields  of  dark  green  alfalfa  stretched  out  to 
ward  the  river,  its  royal  purple  blossoms  gloriously  height 
ening  the  color  of  the  landscape,  and  yielding  fragrant 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         345 

sweets  to  innumerable  hosts  of  bees  that  darted  from 
blossom  to  blossom  gathering  the  rich  store  for  the  hive. 
Scores  and  scores  of  their  neat  white  hives  were  visible 
about  the  farmhouses  as  the  train  sped  by. 

As  No.  1  rolled  on  up  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Platte, 
Mrs.  Dodge  looked  again  and  again  for  a  sight  of  the 
Peak. 

Would  it  ever  appear? 

It  was  just  a  bit  timid  that  day,  the  heat  waves  of  the 
hot  June  sun  had  cast  a  slight  haze  over  the  horizon 
and  it  was  not  visible. 

"But  surely  it  will  not  hide  its  head  much  longer," 
she  thought. 

Ah!  No!  She  fairly  strained  her  eyes  to  catch  what 
she  thought  was  a  dim  shadowy  outline. 

She  looked  again  as  the  train  sped  around  a  sharp 
curve,  giving  her  a  full  view  of  the  southwest. 

Yes!    It  actually  was — dear  old  Pike's. 

That  vast  pile  in  the  far  southwest,  which  resembles 
nothing  so  much  as  a  blue  cloud  floating  lazily  upon  the 
low  sky.  , 

This  was  the  famous  peak  which  Zebulon  Pike  had  de 
clared  in  1806,  that  no  man  could  ever  ascend. 

But  happily,  oh  much  mistaken  prophet,  not  only  are 
there  wagon  roads  and  footpaths  to  its  summit,  but  also 
the  best  paying  railroad  in  Colorado  finds  its  way  to  the 
top,  operating  trains  from  May  to  October. 

Mollie's  face  fairly  beamed  as  she  hugged  Annette  af 
fectionately  and  pointed  out  the  dim  outlines  of  the 
great  peak. 

It  two  hours  they  wrould  be  in  Denver. 

Since  leaving  Fort  Morgan,  they  had  been  traveling 
for  nearly  an  hour  thru  the  Great  Plains  country  which 
lies  immediately  to  the  east  of  Denver.  At  this  season 
of  the  year  it  is  one  great  billowy  fragrant  mass  of  pas 
ture,  the  rains  having  been  especially  abundant  this  year. 
Big  steers  stood  almost  belly  deep  in  grass  among  the  deep 
gullies  and  arroyos,  gazing  stolidly  upon  the  swift  flying 
train. 

Numerous  patches  of  wild  roses  grew  on  the  railroad 


346         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

right-of-way,  tossing  their  fragrant  blossoms  in  the  pass 
ing  draught  of  the  train;  while  large  beds  of  cacti  grew 
upon  the  sandy  hillsides,  blooming  gorgeously  in  bright 
clusters  of  brilliant  scarlet  and  yellow  flowers.  Darting 
among  them  were  hundreds  of  saucy  scampering  prairie- 
dogs,  which  sat  up  occasionally  upon  their  fat  haunches, 
and  in  one  instance  were  peering  suspiciously  upward  at  a 
large  hawk  slowly  soaring  far  above  them  in  the  blue 
sky. 

About  this  time  Annette  began  to  pack  the  traveling 
bags  and  make  ready  to  leave  the  train,  altho  she  had  cer 
tain  suspicions  that  madame  was  altogether  too  much  in  a 
hurry,  it  being  difficult  for  the  traveler  who  visits  Den 
ver  for  the  first  time  on  most  of  the  northern  routes,  to 
realize  that  a  large  city  can  follow  so  closely  upon  the 
heels  of  such  absolute  solitude  and  desolation  as  bor 
ders  the  route  the  last  ten  miles  into  the  city. 

Gradually  as  the  train  ascended  the  last  long  grade 
which  the  Burlington  makes  before  it  finally  plunges 
downward  into  the  suburbs  of  Denver,  the  great  Front, 
Park,  and  Rampart  ranges  of  the  Rockies  are  visible; 
and  at  the  top  of  this  grade,  the  entire  sublime  sky-line 
of  the  Great  Hills  leaps  into  view;  from  the  low  sharp 
pointed  foothills  near  Boulder  and  the  superbly  curved 
Medicine  Bow  range  stretching  mistily  far  away  north 
ward  into  Wyoming,  to  the  vast  bulk  of  the  whole  Con 
tinental  Divide,  beginning  with  Long's  majestic  peak 
forty-five  miles  to  the  northwest,  and  terminating  glor 
iously  eighty  miles  to  the  far  southwest  in  the  serene 
soaring  summit  of  Pike's.  These  two  noble  peaks,  almost 
twin  brothers  as  to  form  and  height,  being  separated 
by  a  full  hundred  and  twenty  miles  of  white  crested 
snow  ranges  and  green  clad  foothills. 

In  the  center  of  this  magnificent  sky-line  is  Mt.  Evans, 
upon  which  at  this  time  of  the  year,  lies  a  great  field  of 
ice  glittering  in  the  sun  like  a  gigantic  mirror.  To  the 
north  of  this  noble  peak  is  the  elongated,  chisel-edged 
crest  of  the  Arapahoes,  which  towering  twin  summits 
smoke  and  play  for  three-quarters  of  the  year  in  snow 
storms  and  howling  blizzards. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         347 

Directly  to  the  west,  at  the  base  of  the  first  line  of 
foothills,  is  the  low,  mesa-shaped  Table  Mountain,  which, 
cloven  directly  thru  the  center  by  the  gorge  of  Clear 
Creek,  marks  the  site  of  Golden,  the  first  capital  of  Col 
orado,  more  readily  identified  by  a  column  of  white  smoke 
issuing  from  the  stack  of  its  one  remaining  smelter. 

In  the  near  northwest  are  the  Highlands  of  North 
Denver,  and  beyond,  the  Heights  of  Berkley  appear,  a 
long,  sharp  ridge  overlooking  the  fertile  orchard-check 
ered  valley  of  Clear  Creek. 

In  the  sweep  of  the  far  southwest  is  the  jagged  sil 
houette  of  the  Devil's  Head,  and  slightly  to  the  north  of  it 
is  the  round  knob-like  tip  of  the  north  portal  of  Platte 
Canon,  from  Tvhose  cool,  mossy  depths  flows  the  crystal 
flood  of  the  Platte,  which  is  piped  into*  Denver  to  clothe 
her  hillsides  and  lawns  with  charming  verdure  and  fill  her 
fountains  with  purest  aqua. 

In  the  nearer  southwest,  just  above  the  green  tops  of 
the  tall  cottonwoods  which  fringe  the  banks  of  the  Platte, 
rise  the  Heights  of  Loretto,  named  after  a  community  of 
nuns  who  have  built  a  handsome  seminary  upon  the  brow 
of  the  ridge.  And  just  beyond,  at  the  foot  of  the  ridge, 
clustered  together  upon  a  wide  stretch  of  tableland  which 
commands  a  full  view  of  Bear  and  Clear  Creek  valleys,  is 
a  group  of  buildings  known  as  Fort  Logan,  a  United 
States  military  post,  placed  there  many  years  ago,  from 
which  the  government  could  keep  a  close  watch  on  the 
Indians. 

Directly  to  the  south  is  the  flat  pine-fringed  crest  of 
the  Arkansas  Divide,  a  range  of  handsome,  picturesque 
hills  which  separate  the  waters  of  the  Arkansas  from  those 
of  the  Platte. 

But  the  mountains  and  the  heights  are  not  all,  for 
spreading  over  the  gentle  hills  of  the  Cherry  and  the 
Platte  is  Denver,  the  Queen  City  of  the  Mountains  and 
the  Plains. 

From  the  summit  of  the  last  high-grade  of  the  Burling 
ton,  the  city  of  Denver  spreads  out  at  one's  feet  as  glo 
riously  as  the  vision  of  ancient  Jersualem  once  beat  in 
upon  the  soul  of  the  weary  pilgrim. 


348         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

DENVER !  Fair,  wondrously  fair.  Filled  with  Prom 
ise,  pregnant  with  Power.  With  the  great  misty  moun 
tains  towering  high  above,  piercing  the  turquoise  sky  of 
Colorado  with  their  peaks  of  eternal  snow,  and  spreading 
their  white  wings  protectingly  over  her  green  and  billowy 
plains. 

Mollie's  heart  beat  with  all  the  ingenuousness  of  a  young 
girl's  as  she  gazed  once  more  upon  the  glorious  prospect, 
while  Annette  was  beginning  to  think  that  her  mistress' 
glowing  accounts  of  the  Colorado  land  were  not  so  ex 
aggerated  after  all. 

As  the  long  train  pulled  slowly  into  the  station  and 
the  monotonous  "click-click"  of  the  Pullman  wheels 
ceased  as  they  pa'ssed  the  last  switch,  the  porter  entered 
the  drawing-room  and  picked  up  their  traveling  bags.  The 
senator  joining  the  party,  they  all  hastened  down  the 
corridor  of  the  car  to  the  steps,  where  Mollie  was  sud 
denly  greeted  by  a  familar  voice,  and  Theodore's  face 
shone  smilingly  up  at  her  in  the  last  sunlight  of  the  day. 
Bidding  adieu  to  the  senator,  they  passed  thru  the  bust 
ling  throng  and  outside  to  the  street  curb,  where  John,  the 
coachman,  was  sitting  upon  the  box  of  the  glass-windowed 
vehicle  restraining  the  nervously-pawing  animals. 

As  he  saw  them  burst  thru  the  crowd  he  straightened 
himself  instinctively,  his  eyes  beaming  expectantly.  He 
was  a  strict  Roman  Catholic  like  his  mistress,  and  he  knew 
the  good  father  of  St.  Andrews  would  be  very  happy  when 
he  saw  once  more  the  little  lady  from  the  Hill. 

As  they  drove  home,  Mollie  scrutinized  her  husband's 
face  closely.  It  was  unmistakably  thin,  troubled,  and 
careworn.  It  made  her  feel  very  unhappy,  but  she  was 
comforted  in  the  thought  that  she  was  home  again  to 
console  and  assist  him,  and  she  nestled  up  to  him  in  the 
seat  and  roguishly  patted  his  thin  cheeks  with  her  daint 
ily-gloved  hands. 

The  next  morning  after  her  arrival,  she  inspected  the 
premises  thoroly,  and  as  she  entered  the  large  drawing- 
room,  which  had  immense  windows  on  the  south  and  west 
overlooking  the  valley  of  the  Platte  and  the  mountains, 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         349 

she  found  to  her  great  surprise  and  disappointment  that 
the  former  splendid  and  unbroken  view  to  the  west  was 
now  partially  intercepted  by  a  structure  of  graceful  Span 
ish  architecture  which  had  been  erected  during  her  ab 
sence. 

'Who — who  lives  there?"  she  asked  indignantly  of 
Henriette,  the  housekeeper. 

"  The  Browns,"  replied  the  servant,  "a  tall  man,  a 
little  woman,  an  old  man,  and  a  little  boy,"  she  further 
explained,  as  her  mistress  looked  at  her  questioningly. 

Mollie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said  with  a  deeply- 
injured  air,  "Well,  whoever  they  are,  they  have  ruined 
our  view  of  the  mountains.  I — I  nevor  dreamed  that  a 
house  built  there  would  affect  our  view  so  much.  If  I 
had,  I'd  have  had  Theo  buy  the  lots." 

That  evening  at  dinner  she  asked  Theodore  about  their 
new  neighbors,  the  Browns.  In  answer,  he  replied  : 

"Why,  yes,  sweetheart,  I  never  thought  to  write  you. 
Brown  came  here  from  your  old  home,  Plume.  He  struck  it 
rich  in  a  mine  up  there,  and  has  come  to  Denver  to  live. 
Queerest  fellow  you  ever  saw.  The  most  stubborn  cuss 
in  Colorado.  Had  a  big  fight  with  him  in  the  legislature, 
and  he  beat  us  at  last.  He  is  a  large  stockholder  in  Col 
orado  Steel.  And — confound  it,  I'm  afraid  he's  against 
me  in  this  fight,  too." 

Mollie's  eyes  opened  wide  at  her  husband's  remarks. 
Then  she  asked  timidly,  "What — what's  his  first  name, 
Theo?" 

He  looked  at  her  questioningly  for  a  moment,  and  re 
plied: 

"  Standish — Standish  Brown." 

"  Standish  Brown !"  she  echoed  incredulously. 

"Yes,  Brown — Standish  Brown,"  he  repeated.  "Ever 
know  him?" 

"  Why — wh — ,  yes,  Theo,  ho  is  an  old  friend  of  mine." 
she  answered,  flushing  slightly  under  his  close  scrutiny,  to 
which  she  added  musingly,  '"Whoever  thought  of  that 
great  awkward  Standish  Brown  living  here  in  Denver, 
right  on  Capitol  Hill." 


350        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

They  did  not  discuss  the  Browns  further,  but  they  both 
thought  of  them;  the  husband,  of  Brown's  probable  atti 
tude  in  the  coming  election  of  Colorado  Steel ;  the  wife,  of 
her  old  lover. 


CHAPTER  III 

The  summer  had  flown,  the  rare  Colorado  autumn  had 
passed  away  with  its  weeks  of  glorious  sunshine  and 
balmy  evenings,  and  the  time  was  fast  approaching  when 
the  immediate  issue  in  Colorado  Steel  would  be  settled. 
The  court  had  decreed  that  the  stockholders  must  hold  an 
election  in  December,  and  it  had  also  appointed  a  master- 
in-chancery  to  supervise  the  affair. 

It  was  midnight  in  the  Dodge  mansion.  Theodore  was 
alone  in  the  library.  Upon  the  table  in  front  of  him 
were  the  latest  reports  of  his  secretary  upon  the  voting 
strength  of  the  Dodge  forces  in  the  coming  election. 

After  his  wife  had  said  good  night,  he  listened  for  a 
moment,  and  as  he  heard  her  step  lightly  down  the  hall 
and  close  the  door  of  her  apartment,  he  spread  out  the 
papers  from  which  to  read  his  fate  in  Colorado  Steel.  For 
a  long  time  he  inspected  and  perused  the  documents,  then 
he  rose  and  passed  into  the  vestibule,  and,  opening  the 
coat  closet,  he  took  something  from  his  overcoat  pocket. 
As  he  returned  to  the  library  the  object  shone  in  the  light 
of  the  lamp.  It  was  a  revolver. 

He  laid  it  down  upon  a  pile  of  papers  near  the  edge  of 
the  massive  oak  table.  Strange,  there  were  two  paper 
weights  in  sight. 

Lighting  a  cigar  and  nervously  tossing  the  match  into 
the  grate,  he  walked  back  and  forth  for  a  few  moments 
puffing  the  weed  fiercely.  Soon  he  seated  himself  in  a 
chair,  and,  leaning  back,  rested  his  feet  upon  the  top  of 
the  table,  and  then  with  a  deep  sigh  he  turned  his  weary 
vision  upon  the  Sublime  Stage. 

When  the  curtain  rose,  a  single  object  was  visible.  A 
fearful  creature.  One  of  the  greatest  monsters  of  the  soul- 
world. 

It  was  STEEL. 

The  scenes    shifted    rapidly.     A   hundred  battlefields 

351 


352         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

were  shown.  From  classic  Marathon  to  desperate  Gettys 
burg.  In  all  of  them  the  hideous  Steel  monster  filled  the 
stage  with  forests  of  naked,  leaping  swords,  bristling  bay 
onets,  fire-spitting  rifles,  flaming  cannon,  together  with 
all  the  other  types  of  metal  weapons  that  man  has  ever 
known. 

Next,  the  monster  was  binding  states  and  continents 
with  countless  miles  of  shining  rails,  and  starting  over 
them  thousands  of  steaming  locomotives  and  trains.  It 
dotted  the  vast  expanse  of  the  oceans  with  iron  ribbed 
and  plated  leviathans;  and  spanned  great  rivers  and 
chasms  with  mighty  structures  of  rivets  and  Bessemer 
beams. 

Amid  the  horrid  clash  of  war  and  the  more  peaceful 
conquest  of  the  world  by  the  mighty  power  of  Steel,  heroic 
beings  of  tender  flesh  and  blood  were  lifted  high  in  view ; 
their  snow-white  brows  shining  undaunted  in  the  grim 
front  of  War,  and  their  serious  genius-inspired  souls  gear 
ing  up  the  globe  with  magnificent  feats  of  engineering. 

In  this  titanic  world-drama,  Miltiades  and  his  heroic 
Greeks  gave  the  death-bite  to  the  haughty  Persian.  Here 
Spartacus  sank  his  bloody  blade  into  the  bowels  of  his  an 
tagonist.  Here  the  dauntless  Dewey  vomited  forth  his 
death-fires  into  the  flaming  vessels  of  the  unhappy  Span 
iard. 

From  the  shores  of  Illinois  and  Missouri  the  brave  Eads 
swung  his  magnificent  structure  across  the  broad  waters 
of  the  Mississippi;  and  the  persistent  Field  spanned  the 
vast  caverns  of  the  Atlantic  with  his  massive  coil  of  dis 
tance-annihilating  cable.  And  on  and  on  sweeps  the  ever- 
changing  drama  of  Steel;  on,  perhaps,  to  the  end  of  the 
world. 

But  in  all  its  cyclopean  theatricals  Steel  knows  but  two 
masters.  But  two  beings,  at  the  command  of  whom  the 
monster  arouses  itself  to  action  or  sleeps  in  repose. 

These  masters  are,  Genius  and  Gold. 

Sometimes  Genius  commands  and  directs  the  action  of 
the  Steel  monster,  but  more  often  it  is  Gold.  And  in  this 
stupendous  drama  of  Steel,  the  Sublime  Stage  often  re 
sounds  with  the  fiercr  war  note  and  deadly  combat  of 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         353 

Genius  and  Gold  themselves.  Whichever  is  master  for 
the  moment  directs  the  Steel  monster  to  its  particular 
purpose. 

Genius  is  the  spiritual  force,  Gold  the  material.  And 
implacable  has  waged  the  conflict  between  these  two  world 
forces  from  the  most  remote  chronicles  of  man. 

Theodore  Dodge  possessed  Genius.  It  was  the  one  keen, 
sharp  sword,  with  which  all  his  life  he  had  successfully 
crossed  the  bludgeon  of  Gold.  But  he  had  now  wholly 
exhausted  his  powers.  He  was  at  bay.  His  bright  sword 
was  to  be  beaten  down  at  last  by  the  massive  weapon  of 
brute  sordid  Gold. 

For  months  he  had  staved  off  the  New  York  crowd  thru 
the  protection  of  the  courts,  but  that  last  resource  was 
now  fading,  and  with  the  election  but  two  days  away, 
John  Wreckor  Grabbe  was  easily  the  master.  And  such 
was  the  magic  Nemesic  skein  which  Fate  had  wound  from 
the  distaff  of  Destiny,  that  Theodore  Dodge  was  obliged 
to  confess  to  himself  that  the  only  power  that  could  pos 
sibly  prevent  Grabbe's  control  of  the  election,  was  Stand- 
ish  Brown. 

But  alas!  The  aid  of  that  power  was  justly  denied 
him,  and  he  trembled  and  shivered  as  he  thought  of  how 
deliberately  and  cruelly  he  had  inflicted  his  machinations 
upon  the  innocent  and  heroic  miner  from  Plume. 

It  was  this  guilty  knowledge  that  was  destroying  the 
mental  equilibrium  of  Theodore  Dodge.  For,  as  he  re 
flected  upon  the  enormity  of  his  continuous  and  cold 
blooded  attacks  upon  Standish  Brown,  he  was  astonished 
and  sickened  at  his  own  baseness.  So  intently  had  he 
followed  the  dictates  of  business  that  he  had  actually 
strode  over  the  prostrate  forms  of  his  victims  without  a 
thought  of  his  crimes.  But  now  as  he  faced  his  own  defeat, 
their  forms  arose  grimly  to  his  view  upon  the  Sublime 
Stage,  as  did  the  ghosts  of  the  unhappy  victims  of  Glos- 
ter,  who  disported  themselves  before  him  upon  the  fatal 
field  of  Bosworth. 

For  the  first  time  in  the  soul  of  Theodore  Dodge,  FAIL 
URE  appeared  upon  the  boards  and  played  its  part.  He 
had  never  known  Failure  before;  for  his  entire  life  up 


354        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

to  this  fatal  battle  of  Steel  had  been  one  long  unbroken 
success. 

Failure  is  the  greatest  test  of  a  rich  man,  Success  the 
greatest  test  of  a  poor  man. 

Men  are  never  fully  developed  until  they  can  accept 
defeat  with  calmness  and  fortitude,  and  meet  success 
without  being  corrupted. 

Napoleon  was  gold  in  his  successes;  in  his  failures  he 
was  rust. 

Sturdy  old  Blucher,  whom  the  great  war  lord  of  France 
threshed  over  nearly  the  whole  face  of  Europe,  endured 
a  vast  and  humiliating  failure.  But  when  he  stepped 
forth  at  last  in  the  pale  gleam  of  the  young  moon  on 
that  fateful  field  of  Waterloo,  desperate  and  indomitable 
from  his  long  years  of  failure,  his  very  presence  seemed 
to  crush  the  Napoleonic  monster. 

Napoleon  was  a  demi-god  in  success,  in  failure  he  was 
a  cur. 

Blucher  was  a  brave  man  in  failure,  in  success  he  was 
a  hero. 

True  men  may  appear  glorious  in  victory,  but  in  defeat 
they  are  sublime. 

Wellington  was  the  sword-hero  of  Waterloo,  but  Blu 
cher  summoned  up  the  awful  presence  of  an  almighty, 
vindicating  justice  which  inspired  his  veteran  legions  to 
renew  the  exhausted  battle-fires  of  the  heroic  English,  to 
sweep  forever  a  horrid  tyrant  from  that  unhappy  land  in 
which  he  had  made  his  lair. 

In  the  roll  of  mere  years,  victory-flushed  Caesar  is  Suc 
cess — pale,  bleeding  Christ  is  Failure ;  but  in  the  glorious 
march  of  AGES,  imperial  Caesar  becomes  a  mere  stepping 
stone  of  history,  Jesus  Christ  becomes  the  LIGHT  OF 
THE  WORLD. 

Julius  Caesar  was  a  blood-stained  tyrant,  dragging  his 
unhappy  victims  behind  him  bound  in  chains  to  the  plat 
form  of  his  golden  chariot. 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  was  a  sublime  emancipator,  walking 
illumed  among  the  joyful  anthem  singers  and  peaceful 
palm  bearers  of  the  gloriously  free. 

Julius  Caesar  was  a  screaming  meteor  that  flashes  across 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        355 

the  skies  of  history  and  startles  a  generation,  to  fall  heavy 
with  crime  into  an  eternal  night.  Jesus  Christ  is  a  glo 
rious  sun,  beaming  celestial  thruout  an  everlasting  and  all 
joyous  day. 

A  man's  strength,  therefore,  must  be  of  a  universal 
character  to  endure.  He  must  know  defeat.  Must  feel 
the  sting  of  anguish.  Must  weep  in  silence  in  the  depths 
of  failure,  and,  phoenix-like,  if  his  cause  be  just,  a  perma 
nent  and  substantial  success  will  spring  from  the  ashes  of 
his  despair. 

Theodore  Dodge  was  meeting  just  such  a  test.  "Would 
he  endure?  Could  he,  in  the  bluff  Western  phrase.  "  Stand 
the  gaff?" 

The  scenes  shifted.    The  play  rolled  on. 

A  fascinating  figure  appeared.  One  of  the  lawless  com 
panions  of  Failure.  One  of  the  deadliest  sirens  of  the 
soul-world.  A  seductive  Loreli.  A  Rhine  maiden  with 
storm-tossed  hair  sitting  upon  the  brink  of  Destruction. 

It  was  SUICIDE.  That  insidious,  yet  fascinating  siren, 
which  sooner  or  later  appears  in  the  soul  of  nearly  every 
individual. 

Suicide,  the  slayer  of  gentle  Brutus.  The  fair  wooer  of 
the  voluptuous  Cleopatra.  The  cruel  mistress  of  the  mor 
bid  "Werther.  The  seductive  charmer  of  the  resisting 
Goethe. 

In  the  dark  and  scarlet  company  of  Cowardice,  Failure 
and  Despair,  the  individual  is  often  tempted  to  embrace 
the  enticing  figure  of  Suicide,  and  once  succumbing  to 
her  charms,  he  wakes  up  in  the  cold  clutch  of  hideous 
death.  The  individual  upon  his  couch  clasps  a  warm, 
seductive  form,  palpitating  with  fierce  passion,  but  wakes 
upon  the  instant  to  find  himself  in  the  cold  and  pitiless 
embrace  of  a  horrid,  grinning  skeleton. 

Thus  it  was  that  Suicide  smiled  and  beckoned  to  the 
despairing  Theodore,  and  he  followed.  He  picked  up  the 
revolver  and  pressed  it  to  his  temple. 

The  muzzle  was  cold  and  he  hesitated. 

Noting  his  hesitation,  Suicide  came  up  and  put  her  soft 
arms  about  him. 


356        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

"  Come,  darling,  let's  end  it  all.  Say  farewell  to  this 
cruel  world,  and  sink  with  me,  here  in  these  loving 
arms  into  the  mist  land  of  dreams.  Death,  cruel,  inevita 
ble  death,  will  come  to  you  sooner  or  later.  Why  not,  then, 
drift  away  with  me,  softly  into  the  dreamland  of  peace? 
Ah !  you  know  how  sweet,  love ;  rest — gentle  rest,"  and  suc 
cumbing  to  the  siren's  seductive  song,  he  smiled  and 
pressed  the  trigger,  but  as  he  did  so  a  scream  rang  thru 
the  house,  and  the  weapon  was  dashed  from  his  hands. 

It  was  Mollie. 

She  had  gone  to  bed  quite  nervous  and  apprehensive 
that  all  was  not  well  with  her  husband.  He  had  made  no 
complaint.  But  the  heaviness  of  his  soul  and  heart  was 
deeply  felt  by  the  keenly  intuitive  wife.  She  had  longed 
to  have  him  unbosom  himself  to  her,  but  with  that  char 
acteristic  silence  so  often  noted  in  business  men,  he  had 
tightly  locked  up  the  agony  of  his  soul  and  would  not 
confide. 

She  awoke  soon  after  she  went  to  sleep,  and  instinctively 
reaching  out  her  hand  to  where  her  husband  should  have 
lain,  she  found  he  was  not  there.  Arising  hastily,  fairly 
trembling  with  apprehension,  she  stepped  into  the  hall, 
and,  reaching  the  head  of  the  stairs,  she  crept  softly  down 
them  in  her  bare  feet,  peeping  over  the  railing  just  in 
time  to  see  him  raise  the  revolver  the  second  time. 

As  soon  as  the  weapon  fell,  Mollie  picked  it  up  and 
flung  it  thru  the  nearest  window.  The  glass  flew  in  sliv 
ers,  the  weapon  falling  outside  on  the  walk  with  a  loud  rat 
tle.  Then  the  frenzied  woman  put  her  satiny  arms  about 
her  shaking  spouse  and  wept  tears  of  purest  joy. 

A  moment  later  the  housekeeper  rushed  in  from  the 
servant's  quarters. 

"  Bring  me  some  brandy,  quick,  Henriette,"  said  Mollie, 
noting  Theodore's  ashy  countenance  as  he  drooped  in  her 
arms. 

The  startled  housekeeper  soon  returned  with  a  decanter 
and  glass,  and  as  they  forced  the  liquor  down  his  throat, 
he  fainted  upon  the  divan. 

"He   will  be   all   right   presently,  Henriette.     If  the 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         357 

watchman  comes,  please  tell  him  it  is  nothing.  That's  a 
good  girl,  please  leave  us  now.  If  I  want  anything  I  will 
ring  for  you." 

The  bewildered  housekeeper  left  the  room  obediently, 
but  not  to  rest.  She  went  outside  for  a  few  moments  to 
regain  her  composure  in  the  fresh  air.  As  she  passed  the 
library  window  she  noticed  the  broken  pane  for  the  first 
time,  and  from  the  dim  light  shining  thru  the  aperture, 
she  saw  the  revolver  lying  upon  the  walk.  Then  she  un 
derstood.  Picking  it  up  timidly,  she  entered  the  house, 
but  not  to  sleep  much  that  night  from  ruminating  over 
the  affairs  of  the  Dodges. 

Tho  Theodore  and  Mollie  had  known  the  sweetness  of 
love  and  companionship  before,  they  never  knew  its 
downright  divinity  until  this  affair.  During  those  terri 
ble  moments,  loyalty,  sacrifice,  and  the  pure  sanctity  of 
souls  in  the  near  presence  of  death,  touched  many  beauti 
ful,  unsounded  strings  of  their  hearts.  The  trembling 
wife  kissed  the  pale  lips  again  and  again,  pressing  her 
hot-flushed  cheek  against  the  cold  brow  to  warm  it  to 
life,  and  all  the  time  shedding  tears  of  joy  as  she  held  him 
tightly  in  tender  thankfulness. 

Finally,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and,  looking  up  into  her 
beautiful,  tear-stained  face,  he  realized  it  all.  She  had 
saved  him,  and  opening  his  arms  he  folded  her  silently 
to  his  tortured  breast.  She  lay  thus  for  a  long  time. 
Then  the  tears  began  to  trickle  down  his  pale  cheeks ;  and 
their  hearts,  beating  in  perfect  unison;  his  confessing, 
hers  accepting,  the  heaviness  of  his  soul  rolled  away,  and 
his  thoughts  lightened  to  peace  and  joy. 

How  little  did  defeat  matter  now.  In  the  joy  of  pos 
sessing  such  a  wife,  he  could  meet  the  world  even  with  his 
bare  hands,  to  live  in  the  warmth  of  her  pure,  unselfish 
love.  How  happy  he  was.  Stern  business  could  go  where 
it  would  now,  for  Love,  the  fairest  virgin  of  man's  won 
drous  soul,  crept  into  the  firelight  and  claimed  its  own. 

Then  in  the  wee  hours  of  the  morning,  as  she  lay  in 
his  arms,  he  freely  confessed  to  her  his  desperate  situation 
in  Colorado  Steel.  How  companionable,  how  sympathetic, 


358         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

how  tender  she  was.  Why  had  he  not  confided  in  her  be 
fore? 

Alas  I    Poor  misguided  man. 

Business!  That  damnable,  cursed,  man-created  tyr 
anny,  which  sucks  the  warm,  buoyant  life  of  souls  and 
replaces  it  with  a  deadly  burden  of  cold,  lifeless  husks, 
had  completely  enslaved  him.  He  had  succumbed  to  one 
of  the  most  dreadful  creatures  of  the  soul — BUSINESS, 
the  latter  day  alias  of  unspeakable  Mammon.  Business — 
which  if  we  do  not  regulate  with  wisdom  and  care,  will 
transform  this  community  of  free  and  enlightened  com 
monwealths  into  a  syndicate  of  infernos. 

Mollie  listened  attentively  to  her  husband's  confession, 
and  then  she  knew  that  the  fate  of  his  business  career 
rested  in  Standish  Brown,  the  man  who  had  once  been 
her  lover.  The  man  whom  she  had  scorned,  and  who  had 
long  since  suffered  so  unjustly  thru  the  mistaken  business 
policies  of  her  husband. 

Concealing  as  best  she  could  her  keen  remorse  at  Stand- 
ish's  wrongs,  she  wooed  her  husband  back  to  a  renewed 
interest  in  life;  and  after  stuffing  a  pillow  in  the  broken 
window,  they  went  upstairs  to  bed. 

Usually,  Theodore  slept  on  the  outer  side  of  the  bed,  but 
the  timorous  wife  made  him  take  the  back  side  this  time. 
She  intended  to  see  that  he  did  not  leave  her  side  for 
the  balance  of  the  night. 

After  tucking  him  away,  she  looked  at  the  tiny  clock 
on  the  dresser.  It  was  2:30.  Warming  her  feet  on  the 
register  for  a  moment,  they  were  almost  blue  from  cold, 
she  turned  to  the  bed  and  found  to  her  great  delight  that 
Theodore  was  sleeping  peacefully. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Mollie  rose  at  daybreak.  The  excitement  of  the  night 
had  been  too  much  for  her,  and  she  had  slept  but  little. 

Stealing  softly  in  her  nightrobe  to  the  rear  parlor, 
which  was  on  the  same  floor  as  her  sleeping  apartment,  she 
raised  one  of  the  shades  and  looked  out  at  the  gorgeous 
East.  Entranced  with  the  view,  she  raised  the  window, 
the  cool,  refreshing  breeze  of  the  morning  flowing  in  and 
blowing  the  loose  strands  of  her  beautiful  hair. 

The  sky  was  vividly  crimson.  The  cocks  were  crowing 
in  the  distance,  from  where  the  homes  of  the  poor  were 
huddled  together  in  the  sandy  bottoms  of  the  Cherry.  The 
beautiful  morning  star,  glittering  like  a  gigantic  emerald, 
flashed  its  beams  from  a  ribbon  of  pale  blue  sky  just  above 
the  roseate  torches  of  the  dawn. 

Mollie  felt  that  this  was  a  very  holy  moment.  The 
maidenhood  of  a  day  that  meant  much  to  her,  and,  kneel 
ing  down,  she  prayed  long  and  fervently.  As  she  rose,  she 
took  from  her  bosom  an  ivory  crucifix  which  was  fastened 
about  her  neck  with  a  fine  gold  chain.  To  her  devout 
Catholic  spirit,  the  ivory  figure  was  the  real  flesh  and 
blood  of  her  Saviour. 

Ah!  These  Catholic  women.  Faith  incarnate.  Bow 
down,  cold,  frigid  Science.  Gaunt,  thin-visaged  Calvin- 
ists,  behold  the  true  Blood  of  the  Lamb. 

After  kissing  the  image  reverently,  she  made  her  way 
to  the  front  parlor  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  mountains  to 
the  west.  The  view  was  so  magnificent  that  she  returned 
to  her  chamber,  and,  slipping  on  a  pair  of  fleece-lined 
slippers  and  throwing  a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  she 
returned  to  the  parlor  piling  one  of  the  big  rockers  full 
of  pillows  from  off  a  davenport,  and,  seating  herself,  she 
watched  the  play  of  pink-tinted  Aurora  among  the  Great 
Hills. 

359 


360        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Denver  is  just  far  enough  distant  from  the  Rockies  to 
enjoy  to  the  full  those  superb  cloud  effects  which  are  con 
stantly  displaying  themselves  upon  the  summits  of  the 
Snowy  Range.  And  from  the  streets  of  the  city  the  forms 
of  the  Great  Hills  are  beautifully  softened  and  subdued. 
That  awe-inspiring  terribleness  of  the  mountain  solitudes 
themselves,  which  impresses  one  so  distinctly  while  ac 
tually  among  them,  not  being^  noticeable  from  a  distance. 

The  huge  precipices,  yawning  chasms  and  dizzy  peaks 
are  shorn  of  their  terrorism  by  the  superb  enchantment 
of  distance.  They  seem  from  the  city  streets  to  fairly  min 
gle  with  the  clouds  themselves,  and  to  form  gay  partner 
ships  with  the  sun,  moon  and  stars. 

When  actually  among  these  vast  defiles,  one  is  often 
oppressed  by  an  overpowering  sense  of  the  sublime  and 
awful ;  more  often  by  the  morbid  atmosphere  of  a  terrify 
ing,  demoniacal  world,  whose  demon  inhabitants  weigh 
one  down  with  a  grim  terror  during  the  darkness  of 
night ;  and  in  the  broad  light  of  day  peep  mockingly  from 
among  the  beetling  crags  and  the  dark  pine-parked 
canons. 

But  from  the  distance  of  the  city,  these  same  regions 
appear  as  a  land  of  pleasurable  enchantment.  Imagina 
tion  peoples  them  with  fairies,  laughing  nymphs,  and 
comical  gnomes;  and  perchance,  a  piping  Pan.  You 
long  to  fly  up  to  those  dream-bound  regions,  wrapped  as 
they  are  in  glorious  cloud  and  sun.  To  leave  the  near 
world,  and  soar  to  a  dreamland  of  heavenly  vistas,  of 
vague  delightful  prospects.  A  golden,  mist-clad  realm  of 
Prospero,  bidding  one  to  dream,  to  forget  the  close  bind 
ing  clutch  of  flesh.  And,  too,  it  is  an  enchanted  world 
always  near  at  hand.  Even  the  commonest  workman, 
sweating  at  his  toil  in  the  city  streets,  can  look  up  at 
these  glorious  hills  and  ease  his  toil  with  dreams. 

From  the  streets,  also,  the  Great  Hills  display  to  best 
advantage  that  supreme  essential  of  art — FORM. 

Like  beautiful  women,  they  have  form.  As  do  the 
same  entrancing  nymphs  of  flesh,  the  mountains  drape 
themselves  in  beautiful  robes  and  modes.  At  times  the 
clouds  and  the  mists,  'dyed  by  the  sun  in  all  the  colors  of 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        361 

the  spectrum,  dress  the  nude  outlines  of  the  mountains  in 
matchless  robes.  Again,  as  if  to  amorously  tempt  the  eye, 
they  lift  their  bewitching  draperies,  exposing  the  soft, 
tempting  sky-line  of  their  snowy,  flawless  breasts. 

In  the  dim  gray  of  the  morning,  the  range  lies  dark  and 
ghostly  in  the  west.  But  long  before  the  east  is  fairly 
flushed,  and  Day  has  crept  over  the  Great  Plains,  the  high 
towering  snow  peaks  glittering  rosy  and  transcendently 
from  the  skies,  have  caught  the  sun's  first  rays. 

As  the  upper  peaks  of  the  main  range  receive  the  first 
full  beams  of  the  sun,  they  stand  out  in  bold  outline, 
much  as  the  footlights  of  a  theatre  throw  in  high  relief 
the  forms  of  the  players. 

Here  a  great  crevice  is  lighted  up ;  there  a  dark  canon 
is  penetrated,  the  dense  mass  of  conifers  being  silhouetted 
against  the  sky  like  numberless  glumes. 

Then,  as  these  vast  upper  regions  stand  forth  like 
awakening  giants,  the,  sun  gradually  lights  up  the  foot 
hills;  and  tier  after  tier  of  these  dark,  swarthy  monsters 
assemble  into  view,  grouped  as  a  herd  of  baby  elephants 
at  the  foot  of  the  giant  tuskers  which  tower  grandly  above 
them.  Finally,  as  the  conqueror  of  darkness  rises  full 
above  the  rim  of  the  world,  and  pours  his  fiery  flood 
upon  the  sleeping  plains,  bright  Day  rushes  victoriously 
forward,  and,  leaping  the  range,  passes  on  into  the  limit 
less  West,  leaving  in  her  golden  trail  the  expiring  mists  of 
Night. 

Theodore  slept  late  that  morning.  As  he  came  down  to 
breakfast  he  heard  Mollie  singing  one  of  her  old  Irish 
love  songs.  It  made  him  smile  rem'iniscently.  It  was 
lingering  upon  his  face  as  he  entered  the  dining-room. 
How  golden  it  looked  to  her. 

As  they  chatted  over  the  coffee  and  rolls,  his  wife's  good 
spirits  buoyed  him  up  considerably;  and,  as  he  rose  from 
the  table,  he  felt  that  if  he  could  somehow  get  thru  the 
next  few  days,  there  would  be  something  to  live  for 
after  all. 


362         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

"Courage,  darling,"  she  whispered,  as  she  kissed  him 
good-bye,  "  I  swear  that  you  shall  be  victorious." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  doubtfully  as  he  walked 
down  the  steps  to  the  cart,  but  he  waved  his  hand  at  her 
fondly  as  he  drove  away. 

"Annette,"  said  Mollie  to  the  maid  a  few  moments 
later,  "  You  are  such  a  jewel.  But  oh  I  You  must  dress 
me  up  fine  this  morning,  for  I'm  going  to  visit  the  father 
on  a  very  special  errand,  and  not  a  speck,  not  a  wrinkle, 
you  dear  little  Frenchy." 

"  I  am  ze  one,  madame.  I  gife  you  ze  grand  prix.  I 
make  you  ze  one  angel  to  call  on  ze  saint,  eh?" 

The  toilet  ended  with  the  adjustment  of  a  great  white 
veil  fastened  around  the  hat.  Annette  had  no  comment 
to  offer  about  the  balance  of  the  costume,  but  at  this  she 
really  wondered. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Dodge  left  the  house  and  was  driven 
in  the  closed  carriage  to  St.  Andrews.  As  she  entered  the 
confessional  the  father  greeted  her  graciously.  He  hpd 
good  reason,  for  of  all  his  flock,  she  was  the  pearl;  both 
in  her  contributions  and  conduct  she  was  irreproachable. 

"Father,  I  have  need  of  spiritual  power  and  grace  to 
day.  Please  remember  me  in  your  offerings,"  she  said 
sweetly. 

The  priest  looked  at  her  sharply  and  crossed  himself 
fervently.  She  kneeled  in  confession  and  told  him  her 
secret.  He  smiled  gravely  as  she  did  so,  but  nodded  his 
head  approvingly.  As  she  finished  he  blessed  her,  saying, 
"  Blessings  on  thee,  my  daughter,  may  the  Father  have 
you  in  His  holy  keeping." 

Altho  Mollie  left  a  secret  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  church, 
yet  in  the  sanctuary  of  her  soul  was  still  another  secret 
which  was  not  related  to  the  good  father. 

Re-entering  the  carriage,  she  was  driven  rapidly  down 
town. 

The  day  was  characteristic  of  a  winter  day  in  Denver. 
At  times  it  seemed  as  if  the  wind  blew  from  every  point  of 
the  compass,  raising  the  dust  in  clouds;  and  as  Mollie 
peered  thru  the  carriage  windows,  she  thought  that  all  the 
tin  cans,  old  newspapers  and  tumble-weeds  of  the  North 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        363 

Side  were  being  blown  across  the  bottoms  to  Capitol  Hill. 
The  mountains  were  hidden  in  a  solid  bank  of  angry  dark 
gray  clouds,  which  indicated  that  a  blizzard  was  raging 
on  the  Great  Divide.  Occasionally  the  clouds  lifted  for 
a  moment,  and  one  could  see  the  great  bald  peaks  fairly 
weltering  in  the  sweep  of  the  howling  winds  and  blinding 
snow.  Old  residenters,  driven  from  the  streets  by  the 
wind  and  the  dust,  predicted  a  fall  of  snow  within  twelve 
hours. 

At  Daniels  &  Fishers,  the  Marshall  Fields  of  Denver,  Mrs. 
Dodge  left  the  carriage,  telling  John  to  blanket  the  horses, 
take  refuge  himself  in  the  store,  and  await  her  return. 
She  then  entered  at  Lawrence  Street,  and  slyly  made  her 
exit  at  Sixteenth  Street.  She  was  evidently  upon  an 
errand  which  required  secrecy  even  from  her  faithful 
coachman.  Her  great  white  veil  was  closely  gathered 
about  her  features,  her  gown  and  cloak  being  of  the  deep 
est  black,  with  her  hands  gloved  in  exquisite  white.  She 
really  wore  the  veritable  black  and  white  draperies  of  a 
nun,  but  they  were  cut  in  that  fashion  which  proclaims 
the  drawing-room  instead  of  the  cloister. 

During  the  two  or  three  short  hours  which  she  had  half 
slept  that  night,  she  had  a  peculiar  dream ;  and  this  mys 
terious  veiling  and  confessing  to  the  priest  were  but  the 
preliminaries  of  a  much  more  serious  mission. 

In  the  dream,  John  Wreckor  Grabbe  had  appeared  to 
her  as  a  monster  who  was  about  to  devour  Theodore  and 
herself;  but  just  as  he  had  reached  them,  and  she  fancied 
afterward  that  she  must  have  screamed  loudly  in  her 
sleep  from  fright,  Standish  Brown  had  appeared,  looking 
just  as  he  used  to  in  that  long  ago  at  Plume  with  his  awk 
ward  figure  and  rough  miner's  suit;  and  at  the  sight  of 
whom  the  Grabbe  monster  had  instantly  disappeared,  and 
Standish  stood  looking  at  her  with  is  old  familiar  smile. 

This  was  the  secret  which  she  had  confessed  to  the 
priest,  but  she  did  not  tell  him  that  this  same  Standish 
Brown  was  an  old  lover  of  hers,  and  that  was  the  secret 
she  had  reserved  in  the  sanctuary  of  her  soul. 

The  priest  had  readily  agreed  with  her,  that  as  Theo 
dore  had  acknowledged  that  Standish  Brown  held  the 


364        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

balance  of  power  in  the  battle  of  Colorado  Steel,  the  cor 
rect  interpretation  of  the  dream  was,  that  she  should  en 
deavor  to  win  Brown  over  to  her  husband's  cause  and  thus 
defeat  the  Wall  Street  crowd. 

It  was  only  a  couple  of  blocks  to  Standish's  office,  and 
as  she  reached  the  building  and  took  the  elevator,  its  sud 
den  ascent,  coupled  with  her  intensely  nervous  condition, 
nearly  prostrated  her  and  she  almost  fainted.  A  stout 
old  gentleman,  noting  her  condition,  steadied  her  with 
his  arm. 

"  Look  a  here,  young  man,"  he  said,  glaring  fiercely  at 
the  elevator  pilot  as  if  he  were  to  blame  for  it  all,  "  You'll 
get  discharged  for  this  funny  business  yet." 

At  the  same  time  he  gazed  at'  Mollie  intently,  vainly 
seeking  to  fathom  the  thick  veil.  What  wouldn't  a  stout 
old  gentleman  do  for  a  perfectly  gowned  woman  with  an 
adorable  mystery  of  a  veil  and  the  exquisite  scent  of  rare 
perfume  diffusing  itself  from  her  person? 

As  Mollie  approached  the  suite  of  offices  on  the  top 
floor  which  bore  the  name,  "Standish  Brown,  Mining 
and  Investments,"  her  heart  almost  failed  her  and  she 
felt  most  miserable.  But  she  opened  the  door  and  entered. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Browns  were  enjoying  the  luxury  of  their  new 
home  on  the  Hill,  Standish  having  picked  out  a  beautiful 
building  site;  a  north  and  west  corner  containing  three 
city  lots  which  overlooked  the  valleys  of  both  the  Cherry 
and  the  Platte,  and  which  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the 
range. 

Upon  inquiry  he  found  that  the  property  belonged  to 
David  Moore,  whose  great  gloomy  brick  mansion,  built 
in  the  middle  of  the  block,  was  shut  in  on  every  side  by  a 
brick  wall  surmounted  by  a  low  iron  fence.  Standish 
looked  up  the  agent  who  had  the  property  in  charge  and 
negotiated  for  its  purchase.  The  agent  called  on  the 
president  of  the  National  First  and  explained  the  nature 
of  the  offer  and  named  the  prospective  purchaser.  With 
characteristic  bluntness  David  only  asked  one  question. 

"How  much  of  a  family  has  Brown?" 

The  agent's  face  fell.  It  was  the  usual  question  of  the 
particular  and  independent  property  owner  whose  resi 
dence  immediately  adjoins  the  property  in  question,  and 
with  the  feeling  that  the  deal  was  all  off  and  a  fat  com 
mission  lost,  the  agent  replied: 

"  Brown  has  a  wife  and  one  little  boy." 

David  smiled  to  himself  at  the  agent's  accent  on  the 
word  "little ;"  and  to  that  worthy's  great  amazement,  the 
financier  actually  looked  pleased. 

"  Close  it  up  then,  Smith,"  he  said  cheerily,  "and  mail 
the  deed  to  me  when  you  get  it  ready  for  signature ;"  and 
as  the  agent  left  the  office,  he  was  vainly  endeavoring  to 
impress  upon  his  mind  another  evidence  of  the  extreme 
freakishness  of  human  nature.  As  for  David  Moore,  he 
fairly  beamed  in  the  thought  of  a  little  family  nearby, 
neighbors  he  could  see  from  the  depths  of  his  great 
south  window. 

After  the  purchase  of  the  lots,  Standish  employed  an 

365 


366        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

architect,  and  the  result  was  that  a  modern  and  commo 
dious  structure  of  Spanish  mission  style  was  built.  The 
ground,  which  sloped  sharply  to  the  west,  being  gracefully 
terraced  and  planted  with  trees  and  shrubs. 

One  day  soon  after  they  had  moved  in,  Standish  made 
inquiries  of  the  postman  about  his  neighbors,  and  to  his 
great  amazement,  he  found  that  the  large  and  pretenti 
ous  mansion  directly  across  the  street  was  the  city  home 
of  Theodore  Dodge. 

Since  the  election  of  1900,  and  the  defeat  of  John 
Charles  Rose,  Standish  could  not  help  feeling  within  him 
self,  his  increasing  consciousness  of  power.  For  one  by 
one  as  he  had  investigated  and  informed  himself  upon 
the  condition  and  nature  of  each  of  his  numerous  invest 
ments;  and  had  contemplated  and  summed  up  the  total 
of  his  estate,  he  was  almost  overwhelmed  with  its  mag 
nitude. 

Away  back  in  the  '80s,  when  Colonel  Rose  first  began  to 
handle  Peter  Brown's  finances,  he  had  invested  heavily  in 
railroad  stocks.  For  both  he  and  the  old  miner  having 
great  faith  in  the  West,  they  fully  realized,  as  they  ob 
served  the  great  influx  of  population  from  time  to  time, 
that  in  a  few  years  these  poor,  sand  plowing,  snow  buck 
ing,  poverty  stricken  railroads,  would  by  sheer  force  of 
necessity,  become  the  great  and  rich  highways  of  a 
mighty  nation.  The  Colonel  had  accordingly  purchased 
large  blocks  of  the  stock  of  the  Union  Pacific,  North 
western,  Rock  Island,  and  Burlington,  at  the  ridiculously 
low  figures  of  the  time;  and  had  also  invested  heavily 
in  Rio  Grande,  and  Colorado  and  Southern.  Also  when 
Colorado  Steel  first  appeared  on  the  market,  he  had  bought 
a  huge  block  of  it,  and  at  the  various  periods  of  its  de 
velopment,  during  which  it  had  increased  its  capital  stock 
from  time  to  time,  the  far  seeing  agent  of  the  Browns 
had  added  considerably  to  their  holdings  of  that  now 
enormously  valuable  property. 

For  years  this  list  of  stocks  and  bonds  had  remained 
among  the  securities  of  Standish  Brown  almost  exactly 
as  when  originally  purchased,  except  in  cases  where  the 
original  stock  had  been  called  in  and  new  stock  issued 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        367 

to  replace  it,  or  bonds  had  been  called  in  and  canceled. 
In  addition  to  these  holdings  were  deeds  to  some  inside 
Denver  real  estate,  which,  purchased  in  1885-86  for  a 
few  thousand  dollars,  were  now  valued  at  hundreds  of 
thousands.  In  fact,  the  Colonel  had  invested  in  very  lit 
tle  dead  property,  having  avoided  the  purchase  of  min 
ing  stock,  unimproved  city  real  estate,  and  other  non-in 
terest  bearing  investments,  outside  of  railroad  and  local 
industrial  securities.  In  almost  every  instance,  his  in 
vestments  had  not  only  produced  a  steady  and  substan 
tial  annual  income,  but  also  the  principal  itself  had  in 
creased  heavily  in  value,  and  in  several  notable  instances 
had  doubled  and  trebled  itself  several  times  above  the 
original  cost. 

When  Standish  finally  became  thoroly  familar  and 
fully  informed  upon  the  various  resources  of  his  estate, 
his  investments  being  almost  entirely  centered  in  Colo 
rado  and  Western  enterprises,  he  felt  that  he  knew 
the  state  and  the  history  of  its  industrial  development 
like  a  book.  Following  the  example  of  his  predecessor,  he 
interested  himself  in  almost  every  new  enterprise  that  ap 
peared  in  the  West,  and  in  those  which  stood  the  test 
of  his  rigid  investigation  he  invariably  invested  gener 
ously.  Thru  the  medium  of  this  experience,  coupled  with 
his  long  and  interesting  life  among  the  miners  of  Plume, 
his  costly  tho  successful  experience  in  Denver  politics, 
and  his  extensive  personal  acquaintance  with  various 
corporation  representatives,  he  had  acquired  a  splendid  in 
sight  into  human  nature  and  the  world  of  finance. 

His  intellect,  which  had  matured  so  slowly,  and  which 
had  taken  such  a  severe  schooling  to  develop,  was  now 
coming  to  a  sane  and  masterful  ascendency.  The  soul 
and  moral  battles  which  he  had  fought  so  gallantly 
among  the  solitudes  of  the  mountains  and  his  lonely  cot 
tage  at  Plume,  had  given  him  an  understanding  and 
knowledge  of  self  that  was  truly  admirable.  Happily  for 
him,  he  had  in  his  mental  development,  almost  uncon 
sciously  followed  the  philosophy  of  all  the  great  soul 
instructors  of  the  past,  such  as  Socrates,  the  Christ,  Luther, 
Spinoza,  Goethe,  Emerson  and  Carlyle;  viz. — "Know  thy- 


368         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

self."  Develop  from  the  divine  inner  man,  the  glorious 
outer  man. 

There  have  always  been  two  great  fundamental  orders 
of  men  predominating  the  human  race,  the  DOUBTER 
and  the  BELIEVER. 

One  order  forever  suspicious,  selfish,  brutish;  who,  lost 
in  admiration  of  their  wisdom,  call  themselves  in  the  apt 
term  of  the  sport,  "wise  gizables,"  and  all  others  than 
themselves — "suckers." 

The  other  order,  believing,  unselfish,  god  like;  who, 
meekly  submitting  to  the  opprobrium  of  being  called 
suckers,  appear  to  be  perfectly  contented  as  long  as  they 
are  undisturbed  in  the  practice  of  happiness,  optimism, 
and  charity. 

Of  this  latter  order  Standish  was  a  worthy  example — a 
sucker  of  the  first  water.  He  invariably  believed  in  a 
man  until  that  man  proved  false;  and  even  then,  at  the 
revelation  and  confession  of  the  falseness  and  weakness  of 
a  fellowman,  the  kindly  mine  owner  was  tolerant  to  a 
fault. 

Having  thus  run  the  gauntlet  of  the  years,  tossed  by 
the  wild  waves  of  Life's  stormy  ocean;  drifting  with  its 
swelling  tides,  and  beaten  by  its  fierce  contending  gales; 
he  had  found  a  safe  pilot  in  Experience,  and  he  felt 
that  he  was  capable  of  weathering  any  future  storm  how 
ever  fierce  it  might  rage ;  and  the  sweetest  thought  of  all 
to  him  was,  that  he  could  still  meet  a  man  and  trust 
him — not  doubt  him. 

But  alas!  How  often  are  the  strong  brought  down  to 
despair.  Yea!  Even  to  the  white-haired  patriarch  as  he 
totters  beside  the  dark  and  yawning  grave.  A  man  can 
still  be  a  believer  at  forty,  even  at  fifty.  But  after  that 
it  is  only  a  hero  who  can  still  unfalteringly  believe. 
Doubt  is  too  often  the  partner  of  old  age. 

Standish  had  watched  the  fight  in  Colorado  Steel  very 
closely,  as  one  would  naturally  expect  from  a  large  stock 
holder.  A  letter  from  Grabbe  requesting  his  proxy  and 
the  advantages  that  would  ensue  thereby,  laid  upon  his 
desk  unanswered.  He  did  not  wonder  why  it  was  that  he 
had  failed  to  receive  a  similar  request  from  Theodore 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        369 

Dodge,  and  he  smiled  grimly  to  himself  at  the  thought 
of  it.  He  felt  like  a  cat  that  has  hopelessly  cornered  a 
mouse.  Perhaps  he  would  vote  that  stock  in  person,  just 
to  hear  somebody  fall  with  a  dull  thud.  That  somebody 
being  Theodore  Dodge,  who  in  his  machinations  had 
been  piling  up  this  catastrophe  for  years.  A  smooth 
fellow  who  would  soon  slide  swiftly  to  destruction  upon 
a  toboggan  of  his  own  construction. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Standish  looked  at  his  watch,  11 :45.  Time  to  go  home 
to  lunch.  As  he  snapped  the  lid  Johnson  came  in. 

"A  lady  to  see  you,  sir." 

"Did  she  give  you  a  card,  Gus?" 

"  No  sir.  She  said  she  must  see  you  personally.  She 
is  closely  veiled." 

Standish  wondered. 

"  You  may  show  her  in,  Gus,  but  please  remain  in  the 
room  with  us.  Busy  yourself  at  the  bookcases." 

He  rose  as  they  entered  and  bowed  politely  to  the 
stranger,  who  gave  a  slight  nod  in  response,  and  addressed 
him  in  a  voice  that  was  somewhat  agitated. 

"  I  believe  I  recognize  Mr.  Standish  Brown,  formerly 
of  Plume,"  she  said. 

"  The  same,  rnadame.  Please  be  seated,"  he  replied, 
as  Johnson  proffered  her  a  chair.  As  she  sank  into  it, 
she  said: 

"  Mr.  Brown,  my  business  is  of  the  utmost  privacy," 
looking  apprehensively  toward  Johnson  who  had  turned 
to  the  bookcases. 

"  Mr.  Johnson,"  said  Standish,  motioning  him  toward 
the  door.  "You  may  retire  now,  thank  you." 

And  as  that  worthy  disappeared,  Standish  turned  his 
gaze  upon  his  visitor  again,  to  find  her  raising  the  veil 
from  her  face.  She  did  this  very  deliberately,  lifting 
it  carefully  back  over  her  hat,  and  pinning  it  so  that  it 
would  not  fall.  Her  arm  and  sleeve  obscured  her  coun 
tenance,  but  when  she  dropped  her  arm  and  turned  to 
ward  him,  he  started  very  perceptibly. 

"Mollie — Mollie  Rogan!"  he  gasped.  And  for  a  mo 
ment  he  was  so  overcome  by  his  emotions,  that  he  could 
say  nothing  further,  but  only  gazed  upon  the  countenance 
of  his  old  sweetheart  without  a  word. 

371 


372        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Thru  the  windows  of  his  new  home  he  had  often  seen 
whom  he  supposed  was  she,  either  entering  or  alighting 
from  her  carriage  across  the  street,  but  he  had  otherwise 
given  her  slight  notice  or  thought,  the  long  years  having 
almost  removed  her  from  his  life.  Slowly  recovering 
himself,  he  waited  for  her  to  break  the  silence. 

"Yes,  it  is  I,"  she  said  simply,  lifting  her  expressive 
blue  eyes  toward  him  and  smiling.  Then,  as  she  ob 
served  his  face,  she  could  detect  a  trace  of  the  nervous 
twitching,  which  used  to  spread  over  it  in  the  old  days 
in  the  fierce  play  of  his  thought. 

"  What  a  grand  head,"  she  thought,  remembering  him 
as  the  raw,  awkward  youth;  a  great  rough,  unhewn  rock 
as  it  were. 

In  the  youth  of  a  star,  of  a  world,  of  a  mountain ;  and 
even  down  to  man,  the  lines  are  often  rough,  obscured, 
and  unhewn.  It  is  only  the  sculpture  of  Life  that  makes 
them  ornate. 

Yet  there  is  a  certain  majesty  in  the  rough  block,  the 
unpolished  surface,  the  line  concealed  in  the  mass.  It  is 
the  promise  that  under  the  hand  of  the  eternal  sculptor, 
Life,  the  rough  block  will  emerge  into  form  imperish 
able. 

It  is  said  that  the  mighty  Angelo  carved  no  statue  but 
that  somewhere  in  the  work  he  left  one  line  uncut.  And 
in  that  uncut  line  lies  a  mighty  truth. 

It  is  the  master's  confession  and  tribute  to  his  Maker, 
that  hidden  in  the  statue  is  that  more — infinitely  more-y 
beautiful  statue,  the  eternal  IDEA,  the  Genius  of  Inspi 
ration,  the  surpassing  creation  of  the  infinite  God.  That 
beneath  the  rough  husk  is  the  more  perfect  grain;  that 
within  the  perishing  corruptible  flesh — is  the  conquer 
ing  immortal  SOUL. 

Mollie  noticed  many  lines  in  her  former  lover's  face 
that  were  not  there  when  she  knew  him  in  the  old  days 
at  Plume.  She  almost  wished  that  they  were  not  there  now, 
for  she  had  always  remembered  the  bold  features  of  the 
youth.  They  were  indelibly  stamped  upon  her  memory, 
and — she  hoped  that  it  was  no  shame  to  confess  it — 
they  were  really  endeared  to  her. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        373 

There  was  one  familiar  line  that  remained  however, 
powerful,  mighty  as  of  yore.  A  facial  curve  of  majesty. 
Defier  of  sham.  A  mighty  line  of  truth  worship.  The 
facial  certificate  of  an  undaunted  soul. 

The  other  lines  of  his  face  were  much  softened.  Lover- 
hood,  husbandhood,  fatherhood,  had  made  them  tender, 
sympathetic,  gentle.  But  silencing  her  sentiment  in  this 
respect,  she  slowly  laid  before  him  the  situation  in  Col 
orado  Steel,  and  then  boldly  asked  him  to  support  her 
husband  at  the  morrow's  election. 

Standish  listened  attentively  to  it  all,  often  fumbling 
his  watch  chain  with  his  nervous  fingers.  When  she 
had  finished,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  paced  back  and  forth 
across  the  huge  rug  spread  upon  the  floor  in  front  of 
his  desk.  Then  seating  himself,  he  pulled  a  well  worn 
wallet  from  his  inner  coat  pocket,  from  which  he  ex 
tracted  an  old  letter,  quite  yellow  and  worn  with  age; 
the  letter  which  she  had  written  to  him  seventeen  years 
ago,  breaking  their  engagement;  opening  it,  he  pro 
ceeded  to  read  in  slow  deliberate  tones. 

She  blushed  furiously  as  he  read,  and  as  he  replaced 
it  carefully  within  the  wallet,  he  turned  to  her  and  said 
in  deep  earnestness: 

"  Mrs.  Dodge,  or  Mollie,  rather,  in  the  memory  of  old 
times,  the  day  that  I  received  this  letter,  I  had  bought 
you  a  beautiful  diamond  ring.  It  would  be  useless  for 
me  to  tell  you  how  I  worked  for  the  little  trinket;  how 
I  feasted  my  eyes  upon  it  as  it  laid  in  the  jeweler's  win 
dow  ;  or  how  I  saved  and  bought  it  one  bright,  happy  day. 
Perhaps — perhaps  you  can  imagine  my  feelings  when  I 
received  this  letter  of  yours.  Honest,  it  almost  broke  my 
heart.  Shortly  afterward  I  returned  to  Plume.  I  was 
unnerved,  shattered,  broken;  but  felt,  that  perhaps  in 
that  old  mine  of  ours,  I  could  forget.  But  it  was  my 
peculiar  fate  to  receive  in  that  grim  gray  vault  of  the 
40  Rounds,  an  even  more  cruel  letter  than  the  one  you 
sent  me  could  ever  be."  Turning  to  his  desk,  he  pro 
duced  from  its  capacious  depths  a  piece  of  granite  about 
a  foot  long,  quite  broad  at  the  base  and  shaped  like 
a  miniature  pyramid.  It  was  very  heavy  and  he  evi- 


374         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

dently  used  it  for  a  paper  weight.  At  the  very  tip  of  the 
specimen,  was  an  inch  or  so  of  glittering  quartz.  It 
was  a  piece  of  ore  from  the  40  Rounds,  attached  to  a 
foot  of  granite  exactly  as  it  was  mined. 

"This — this  was  the  letter,"  he  continued,  holding 
the  specimen  toward  her,  "sent  to  me  by  Almighty  God. 
Mollie,  if  I  had  gone  one  foot  further  into  the  breast 
of  the  40  Rounds  before  I  made  that  unfortunate  trip 
to  Denver,  I  would  have  struck  it  rich,  and  you  would 
probably  have  become  my  wife,  for  at  the  very  first 
shot  upon  my  return  to  Plume  we  struck  this  ore  which 
has  since  made  my  fortune.  Is  not  this  terrible,  at  least 
remarkable?"  he  asked. 

From  the  depths  of  her  chair  Mollie's  head  nodded  as 
she  shaded  her  face  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  Now,  as  to  this  letter  of  yours,"  he  continued,  "I  have 
forgiven  you,  long — long  ago.  I  was  much  to  blame  in 
the  matter.  I  should  have  been  more  frank,  and  told 
you  of  my  extreme  poverty,  and  how  I  was  planning  to 
get  you  the  ring.  But  you  know,  Mollie,  I  was  young 
and  proud  then,  and  didn't  understand  that  somebody 
else  might  have  loved  you  as  well  as  I.  I — I  must  have 
really  thought  at  the  time  that  you  were  all  mine." 

Mollie  heard  his  confession  with  a  breaking  heart. 

"  But,"  he  continued,  turning  the  specimen  over  in 
his  hand,  "when  I  received  this  letter  of  the  rocks,  it 
gradually  dawned  on  me,  after  I  began  to  rally  from  the 
blow,  that  Destiny — that  God  perhaps,  had  decreed  in 
this  terrible  manner  that  we  should  never  become  hus 
band  and  wife."  And  sighing  deeply,  he  returned  the 
specimen  to  its  place. 

"  Now,  I  must  tell  you  the  worst,  Mollie.  While  your 
husband  and  I  have  never  met,  yet  he  is  the  one  indi 
vidual  in  all  the  world,  who  has  heaped  upon  me  such 
indignities  as  to  have  almost  discouraged  me.  You, 
yourself,  have  just  told  me  that  he  has  actually  ac 
knowledged  to  you  several  of  the  infamous  machinations 
which  he  has  inflicted  upon  me  in  times  past,  but  I 
doubt  if  even  he,  himself,  realizes  the  full  measure  of 
them  as  I  see  them.  When  he  was  connected  with  the 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         375 

smelter  combine  he  fairly  persecuted  me.  It  cost  me 
over  ten  thousand  dollars  to  remove  the  unfair  railroad 
rates  from  Plume  to  Goldie;  and  I  have  absolute  proof 
that  it  was  your  husband  who  planned  my  inveiglement 
into  a  four  years'  contract  with  the  Smelter  Trust,  an 
instrument  which  is  my  sorrow  and  shame  to  this  day; 
and  which  has  forced  me  against  my  will  to  become  an 
actual  tho  hopeless  protesting  subscriber  to  the  iniqui 
tous  rule  of  the  American  Smelter  Co.  Mollie,  I  forgive 
you  the  writing  of  that  letter,  I  freely  forgive  you  all 
the  youthful  sorrow  you  caused  me,  and  I  trust  you 
hold  no  malice  toward  me.  It  was  better  so.  The  same 
fate  which  crossed  me  so  cruelly  in  our  affair,  has 
brought  me  a  beautiful  wife  and  a  promising  son.  But 
as  for  your  husband,  Mollie,  who  now  faces  certain  de 
feat,  I  absolutely  refuse  to  check  the  punishment  which 
he  so  richly  deserves.  He  has  been  sowing  the  seed  for 
years,  let  him  now  reap  the  harvest.  It  will  be  a  reaping  of 
thistles,  but  I  affirm  to  you  that  it  is  just.  And  it  only 
confirms  my  long  held  idea,  that  a  man  can't  always  go 
against  God  and  the  right,  and  remain  unpunished." 

Mollie's  heart  sank  at  the  enmity  expressed  by  the 
speaker  against  her  husband,  for  she  knew  he  spoke  the 
truth. 

"Oh!  Standish,"  she  exclaimed  desperately,  "God 
knows  my  husband  has  injured  you,  has  wronged  you; 
yes — almost  as  cruelly  as  my  poor  foolish  self.  But  it's 
all  a  mistake — all  a  mistake,"  she  moaned,  "and  if  you 
will  only  grant  my  prayer,  Standish,  Theodore  and  I 
will  spend  the  balance  of  our  lives  in  proving  to  you 
and  to  our  God,  that  we  are  not  so  base  as  it  now  seems." 

He  looked  at  her  sorrowfully,  almost  scornfully,  as 
she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Yes,  now  that  the  shoe  at  last  pinches  the  foot.  Bah ! 
How  you  have  both  scorned  to  consider  my  feelings  and 
circumstances  when  you  were  treading  across  my  pros 
trate  form  on  the  easy  thoughtless  road  of  what  the 
world  calls,  success.  Pshaw!  It  is  amusing  to  see  your 
tears,  madame." 

"Standish!  Standish!"  she  cried,  despairingly,  vainly 


376        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

trying  to  think  of  an  argument  to  replace  her  entreaties. 
"This  is  more  than  a  personal  affair  between  you  and  The 
odore.  It  is  a  fight  between  Colorado,  your  own  state,  and 
Wall  Street.  The  West  against  the  East.  Surely,  you,  who 
pride  yourself  on  home  enterprises,  will  not  lend  your  aid 
to  this  man  Grabbe,  to  bind  the  state  of  Colorado  in  the 
meshes  of  the  Steel  Trust." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  blazing  eyes. 

"You,  madame,  how  dare  you  preach  the  subterfuge 
of  state  loyalty  to  me.  You,  who  have  made  yourself 
a  stranger  to  this  fair  land  of  ours  for  years.  You,  whose 
husband  was  so  largely  instrumental  in  turning  over 
our  smelting  industry  to  the  Guggenhones;  and  who  has 
for  years  tried  to  crush  out  the  life  of  those  rough, 
honest  miners  of  Plume  and  the  state  in  general  thru 
unfair  railroad  rates.  You,  who  have  supped  the  cream 
of  luxury  in  foreign  lands,  with  others  of  your  like  who 
call  themselves  Coloradoans,  and  who  by  such  acts  scorn 
the  fair  land  that  produces  their  husbands'  millions.  Be 
lieve  me,  madame,  it  is  useless  for  us  to  further  discuss 
this  subject." 

As  she  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments  apparently  com 
pletely  crushed,  he  arose,  and  walking  to  the  window, 
gazed  into  the  street,  deeply  troubled  and  indignant. 

Presently  the  despairing  woman  crossed  to  him,  and 
resting  her  daintily  gloved  hands  upon  his  shoulder, 
said: 

"Standish,  how  vain  and  weak  are  my  arguments. 
Yet,  my  old  sweetheart,  my  hero,  how  can  I  live  and 
suffer  you  to  humiliate  us.  I  beg  of  you  repress  your 
thoughts  of  revenge,  even  if  it  is  only  your  desire  for 
righteous  judgment.  With  the  thought  of  meeting  you 
once  more,  I  imagined  you  as  having  grown  great  enough 
to  forgive  everything,  and  pledging  you  that  Theo  and 
I  have  at  last  come  to  our  senses ;  and  have  promised  our 
God  that  we  will  spend  the  balance  of  our  days  in  making 
just  amends  to  you,  whom  we  have  to  a  great  degree 
unwittingly  and  circumstantially  wronged,  I  plead  with 
you  to  give  us  your  forgiveness,  Standish,  and  I  swear 
your  kindness  shall  never  be  forgotten.  Our  desperate 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        377 

situation  at  the  present  moment  is  such  as  to  fully  justify 
your  faith  as  to  our  punishment,  yet  that  same  power 
which  has  brought  us  so  low  now  demands  of  you  both 
mercy  and  magnanimity." 

The  tall  figure  did  not  move,  however,  and  between 
her  sobs  the  despairing  woman  spoke  again. 

"  Standish,  I  beg  of  you  to  prove  that  you  are  the  true 
man  I  have  always  known  you  were,  even  tho  I  have  done 
you  wrong.  Surely  you  are  my  hero,  Standish,  the  good 
noble-hearted  man  who  used  to  hold  me  in  his  arms 
in  the  old  days  of  Plume.  Even  tho  it  is  my  fate  to 
be  the  wife  of  another,  yet  I  swear  to  you,  Standish,  that 
I  have  never  ceased  to  admire  your  noble  qualities,  and 
cannot  believe  that  you  will  fail  me  in  this  crisis.  Speak 
— speak  to  me,"  she  entreated  wildly,  "and  assure  me 
that  you  will  not  crush  us  so  cruelly." 

But  the  silent  man  only  shrugged  his  shoulders  coldly 
and  made  no  reply. 

Her  hands  fell  despairingly  from  his  shoulder,  and 
lowering  her  veil  she  returned  to  her  chair  and  sank 
into  it  with  a  moan  of  distress. 

In  a  few  moments  he  turned  and  looked  at  her ;  then  she 
raised  her  veil  and  gazed  at  him  in  simple  and  unaf 
fected  appeal,  as  if  to  show  him  a  soul  that  was  great 
enough  to  bear  sorrow  as  well  as  joy. 

"Mrs.  Dodge,"  he  said  at  last,  "believe  me,  you  had 
better  go.  God  knows  I  had  not  intended  to  humiliate 
you  unduly  in  this  matter.  The  world  is  large.  Let  each 
abide  our  destiny.  If  we  are  without  sin  we  cannot 
fail  of  peace  and  prosperity  in  the  end." 

She  rose  to  go,  but  suddenly  as  tho  inspired,  she  brought 
forth  from  her  bosom  her  tiny  crucifix,  and  advancing 
toward  him,  she  held  it  aloft  as  far  as  the  chain  would 
permit,  saying  gently  and  calmly,  with  the  air  of  a 
saint: 

"Standish,  behold  a  woman  in  distress.  Do  not  turn 
your  heart  against  the  man  she  loves,  lest  the  act  cause 
an  all-seeing  power  to  turn  and  rend  you.  You  laid 
claims  to  Christianity  in  the  old  days,  have  you  forgotten 


378        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

that  charity  is  absolutely  demanded  of  you  by  the  terms 
of  the  covenant?  How  can  you  evade  the  issue  when  it 
is  here  placed  squarely  in  front  of  you?  Yours  be  the 
responsibility,  not  mine.  I  have  asked  mercy  at  your 
hands.  I  have  made  in  these  last  few  moments,  every 
appeal  and  promise  that  a  self  respecting  woman  could. 
May  God  forgive  you." 

She  was  very  beautiful.  A  benign  St.  Genevieve.  She 
spoke  like  an  angel,  simply,  without  affectation,  from  the 
heart.  Carefully  replacing  the  trinket  in  her  bosom, 
she  dropped  her  veil  and  slowly  passed  out  of  the  room 
without  waiting  for  a  reply.  As  she  left  him,  a  torrent 
of  hot  protesting  words  rushed  to  his  lips,  but  he  was 
held  in  the  spell  of  some  rebuking  power  which  bade  him 
be  still. 

(Standish  did  not  go  home  to  lunch  after  all,  instead, 
he  phoned.  With  the  same  unfaltering  courage  as  of 
yore,  he  fought  out  the  battle  within  his  soul. 

The  image  of  the  immortal  Nazarene  appeared  upon 
the  Sublime  Stage,  and  under  that  divine  guidance  the 
mine  owner  quickly  eliminated  the  thought  of  business 
gains  in  Colorado  Steel.  Also  the  issue  of  Colorado  ver 
sus  Wall  Street.  Next,  he  removed  his  deep  desire  for 
revenge  on  Theodore  Dodge.  Finally  he  forced  aside 
whatever  lingering  sentiment  he  might  have  had  for  his 
old  sweetheart,  Mollie  Rogan.  With  all  these  minor  fac 
tors  removed,  the  great  and  true  one  still  remained. 

Right,  or  wrong? 

Christ,  or  self? 

Standish  was  not  a  churchman.  He  conformed  to 
neither  creed  nor  pulpit.  He  might  have  been  termed  a 
historical  Christian.  His  Saxon  fathers  had  been  forced 
to  choose  between  the  sword  or  Christ  by  the  mighty 
Charlemagne,  and  having  accepted  the  covenant,  no  mat 
ter  how  humiliating  the  terms  of  force,  they  had  been 
true  to  that  covenant.  His  inheritance  from  his  ances 
tors  and  also  his  own  conviction  was,  that  the  true  church 
was,  LIFE.  The  true  religion  was,  ISRAELISM,  the 
religion  of  TRUTH,  wherever  and  whenever  found,  and 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        379 

that  the  gateway  to  Truth,  by  the  terms  of  the  cove 
nant  of  Charlemagne,  was  CHRIST,  the  founder  of 
Gentile  Israelism. 

He  turned  to  the  Law. 

"  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy." 

"  Forgive  your  enemies." 

"Little  children,  love  one  another." 

This  was  the  Law  as  it  had  been  given  on  the  Mount, 
and  later  sealed  with  the  blood  of  the  Martyr.  Try  as  he 
would,  Standish  could  not  evade  it,  even  in  this  matter 
of  worldly  business.  Mollie's  apparent  weakness  was  her 
tower  of  strength — he  was  whipped. 

In  the  midst  of  his  travail  he  again  pulled  forth  the 
wallet  from  his  pocket.  From  it  he  took  a  piece  of  oil- 
silk,  in  which  was  carefully  wrapped  a  couple  of  sheets 
of  paper  covered  with  characters  dim  and  almost  illeg 
ible.  But  what  matter.  Every  word  was  stamped  upon  his 
soul. 

It  was  the  death  letter  which  old  Peter  Brown  had 
written  to  him  in  the  depths  of  the  40  Rounds  with  his 
last  dying. strength;  and  every  word  seemed  to  shine  out 
of  the  sacred  pages  upon  the  son  as  tho  written  in  letters 
of  fire. 

The  last  words  were:  "I  die  a  Christian." 

Tears  sprang  from  the  eyes  of  the  son.  Enough!  Dear 
old  dad.  Your  son  will  never  betray  you.  The  battle 
ceased.  The  divine  figure  of  the  Christ  upon  the  Sublime 
Stage  had  scourged  the  lions  of  Self  back  to  their  lair. 
And  as  an  outward  indication  of  the  result  of  the  con 
flict,  Standish  rose  from  his  chair  exclaiming:  "Stan- 
dish  Brown,  you're  the  biggest  fool  in  Colorado";  and 
picking  up  his  hat  and  striding  swiftly  out  into  the  hall, 
he  pushed  the  elevator  button  impatiently. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Late  that  afternoon  Annette  entered  the  apartment  of 
her  mistress.  The  shades  were  pulled  down.  Going  to  the 
divan  upon  which  Mrs.  Dodge  reclined  in  a  state  of  com 
plete  prostration,  her  eyes  swollen  from  weeping  and  her 
face  ashy  with  despair,  the  maid  handed  her  a  card.  Rais 
ing  herself  slightly  while  the  maid  lifted  the  shade  so 
she  could  see  to  read,  she  started  at  the  name,  and  with 
out  giving  the  slightest  heed  to  her  toilet,  ran  swiftly 
down  stairs  into  the  reception  room.  As  she  entered, 
Standish  Brown  advanced  and  bowed  politely. 

"  Mrs.  Dodge,"  he  said,  slightly  touching  her  proffered 
hand,  "I  have  reconsidered  the  matter  which  we  discussed 
this  morning,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  sup 
port  your  husband  in  this  Colorado  Steel  election.  I  will 
send  him  my  proxy  tomorrow  in  ample  time  to  be  voted, 
and  I  sincerely  trust  that  the  outcome  of  the  affair  will 
be  satisfactory  to  you.  May — may  I  also  venture,"  he 
added,  as  he  read  from  her  worn  and  swollen  features 
the  suffering  which  she  had  endured  the  past  few  hours, 
"to  render  a  humble  apology  for  the  concern  and  anxiety 
which  my  actions  have  caused  you?" 

He  spoke  pathetically  and  with  such  sympathy  and 
honesty  that  Mollie  was  completely  overcome,  and  she 
stood  for  a  moment  like  a  statue. 

In  the  tide  of  fashion  in  gay  Gotham,  diplomatic 
Washington,  foppish  London,  she  could  have  spoken. 
Now  she  was  in  a  new  world.  A  world  of  eloquent  si 
lence,  unbroken  save  with  the  whirring  wings  of  senti 
ment  and  the  holy,  silent  communion  of  souls  who  know 
but  dare  not  express. 

Not  until  he  had  passed  her  in  the  vestibule  and  opened 
the  outer  door,  did  she  realize,  then  following  after  him 
as  a  kindred  spirit  as  he  descended  the  steps,  she  called 

381 


382         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

his  name  softly  in  terms  of  chaste  endearment,   mur 
muring:  "God  bless  my  hero,  God  bless  him." 

The  tall  figure  walked  straight  ahead  apparently  un 
concerned,  but  as  he  crossed  the  street  and  entered  his 
home  he  hastily  brushed  his  eyes  with  his  coat  sleeve 
as  he  heard  the  "trip-trip"  of  a  light  footstep;  an  instant 
later  the  inner  door  swung  open  and  the  dainty  form  of 
his  own  little  wife  nestled  in  his  arms,  while  a  small  boy 
quickly  followed,  tugging  lustily  at  his  coat  tails. 

The  older  residenter's  prophecy  came  true,  for  at  dusk, 
the  snow,  which  at  first  was  spit  out  sparingly  from  a 
few  stray  clouds,  began  to  fall  heavily,  driven  fiercely 
forward  in  the  teeth  of  a  wild  gale. 

It  was  the  first  real  blast  of  winter,  and  the  storm  hav 
ing  acquired  a  frightful  velocity  in  the  mountains,  swept 
furiously  out  upon  the  helpless,  shivering  plains. 

Whew!    How  it  howled  in  the  chimney. 

Standish,  sitting  before  the  cheery  fireplace  in  the  liv 
ing  room,  shrugged  his  shoulders  significantly  from  time 
to  time,  and  thought  of  what  the  wild  night  meant  to  the 
railroad  men  in  the  mountains  and  on  the  plains,  and 
wondered  how  many  inches  of  snow  there  might  be  at 
high-cragged  Plume. 

Fiorina  was  sewing,  curled  up  in  a  big  rocker  near  the 
fire.  She  was  the  perfect  embodiment  of  peace  and  con 
tent  as  she  worked.  Strange  employment  for  a  woman 
whose  husband  was  so  rich  in  this  world's  goods.  But 
no,  not  so  strange  after  all.  For  the  love  of  the  tall 
man  sitting  by  her  side  was  to  her  greater  than  his  ma 
terial  riches;  and  she,  his  wife,  was  the  true  companion, 
not  of  those  riches,  but  of  his  simple,  honest  manhood. 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  famous  for  her  beautiful 
needlework.  It  is  said  that  she  actually  bound  up  men's 
hearts  in  the  play  of  her  magic  fingers.  One  can  easily 
imagine  it,  for  as  Fiorina  counted  the  stitches  and  plied 
her  deft  needle,  her  husband  rested  his  fond  gaze  upon 
her;  his  heart  went  out  to  her,  and  he  looked  into  the 
great  theatre  of  his  soul  for  the  play. 

The  play  was,  "Woman's  Mission  to  Man." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        383 

Women  in  pure,  spotless  maidenhood,  bind  men  to  the 
human  life  with  their  beauty,  their  charms,  their  pas 
sion. 

This  is  the  INVITATION. 

The  maiden,  the  virgin,  is  framed  for  the  Invitation, 
and  not  for  the  temptation  as  some  would  have  it. 

Oh!  Thou!  Inspired  author  of  Genesis,  how  often  art 
thou  sorrily  misinterpreted. 

The  sacred  chronicles  of  High  Nature  defy  the  morbid 
poet,  the  pessimist,  the  unholy  painter  of  feminine  formed 
vampires;  neither  can  prove  women  the  sin — the  Temp 
tation. 

Nay  I  More!  All  such  are  base  cowards,  defamers, 
a  brood  of  moral  leprous  notoriety-seeking  vipers;  for 
woman,  proclaimed  pure  by  the  sacred  seal  of  High 
Nature,  is  the  glorious  and  all  joyous  Invitation. 

Woman  is  also  the  sublime  FULFILLMENT. 

As  wives,  women  reveal  to  men  thru  the  married  re 
lation,  the  supreme  goodness  of  God,  in  their  sacrifices, 
their  loyalty,  their  boundless  love. 

As  mothers,  they  deliver  to  man  the  most  precious  and 
glorious  fabric  of  human  life — children.  This  is  their 
DIVINITY. 

Thus  woman  is  the  Invitation,  the  Fulfillment,  the 
Divinity  of  FLESH.  And  flesh  contains  the  earthly 
presence  of  the  eternal  God. 

For  this  reason,  the  worship  of  Mary,  the  mother  of 
the  infant  Jesus,  constitutes  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
elements  in  the  mighty  fabric  of  the  Roman  Church.' 

The  Pope,  is  the  benificent  high  priest,  the  awful  key- 
bearer  of  Heaven  and  Hell. 

The  Christ,  is  the  divine  Son  of  God,  sitting  in  His 
Father's  kingdom  upon  the  right  hand,  immaculate, 
holy. 

But  the  gentle  Mary,  the  warm  rosy  fleshed  mother  of 
Jesus  the  purling  babe;  fills  the  Roman  world  with  the 
full,  warm  fervent  beat  of  her  great  mother  heart. 

Humanity  understands  the  mother  love. 

It  pulses  the  heart.     It  kisses  the  lips.     It  folds  you 


384        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

tenderly  in  its  sheltering,  shielding  arms.  It  embraces 
you.  It  plucks  you  ragged  and  unkempt  from  the  mire 
of  the  street  and  fondly  calls  you  its  own.  It  croons  you 
to  sleep  and  repose,  and  when  you  awake  it  bids  you  hope 
and  cheer.  It  fills.  It  completely  satisfies  and  soothes.  It 
gloriously  redeems. 

Christ,  is  the  sublime,  soaring,  conquering  soul. 

Mary,  is  the  close,  warm-beating  mother  heart. 

Christ  is  snow. 

Mary  is  blood. 

Standish  sat  in  the  firelight  and  contrasted  his  con 
tented  child  wife  with  Mrs.  Dodge. 

He  thought  of  Mrs.  Dodge's  personality  as  that  of  a 
great  brilliantly  illumed  mansion.  A  magnificent  palace 
as  it  were,  filled  with  priceless  works  of  art;  with  culture 
and  intellect,  and  all  the  graces  of  society. 

But  his  little  Fiorina  was  a  dainty  cozy  cottage,  fur 
nished  writh  a  neat  set  table ;  a  Bible  upon  a  stand ;  a  lily 
blooming  in  a  pot  upon  the  window  ledge ;  an  easy  chair 
for  the  master;  and  a  kettle  singing  busily  over  the  fire 
of  the  warm  inviting  hearth. 

Every  man  to  his  choice.  Standish  prefered  the  cot 
tage. 

Fiorina  had  no  culture  save  that  which  nature  gave  her 
in  its  pure  artless  way.  She  possessed  few  ideas  of  art, 
and  the  care  and  responsibilities  of  a  large  establishment 
would  have  been  a  hopless  burden  to  her. 

But  ah!  When  it  came  to  children.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  clucking  and  cooing.  Such  a  straightening  out 
of  the  kinks  in  little  Peter's  moods  and  troubles.  How 
she  invited  his  tiny  budding  soul  to  unfold  and  courag 
eously  look  into  the  great  strange  world. 

Sweet  little  mother,  Fiorina.  In  the  world  of  the 
child  she  reigned  supreme. 

Yes,  Standish  preferred  the  cottage. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Phoebe  Prim  was  a  reporter  for  the  "Press,"  and  most 
of  the  time  during  business  hours  she  sat  in  the  dingy 
room  assigned  to  the  reportorial  staff  arranging  material 
.  for  her  famous  short  stories. 

The  readers  of  the  "Press"  loved  and  treasured  Phoebe 
when  it  came  to  one  of  her  live,  chatty  reports  of  some 
society  event,  or  when  she  wrote  up  an  interview  with 
some  interesting  party.  For  she  was  a  natural  born  char 
acter  painter,  and  as  one  posed  before  her — and 
most  of  us  do  pose  unconsciously  —  she  would  paint  both 
one's  inner  and  outer  character  with  the  word  colors  of 
a  master.  Often  her  pen  .portrait  being  in  every  way 
superior  to  a  photograph;  for  in  addition  to  portraying 
the  outward  appearance,  she  revealed  thru  her  inimitable 
cleverness,  .the  very  inner  quick  of  the  individual's  soul 
and  personal  peculiarities.  Her  admirers,  however,  al 
ways  felt  sorry  for  Phoebe  when  she  was  forced,  perhaps 
by  the  insistent  management  of  the  "Press,"  into  writ 
ing  a  story,  a  creative  task  which  was  not  at  all  to  her 
liking  when  engaged  in  reportorial  work.  But  something 
must  be  done  when  the  town  wyas  dull  to  fill  the  columns, 
and  so  between  the  visits  of  famous  and  notorious  char 
acters  to  the  mountain  metropolis,  she  must  invent  some 
tragic  killing,  portray  a  heart-smashing  love  affair,  or 
marry  a  deserving  old  spinster  to  her  father's  brother-in- 
law,  and  the  like. 

It  was  plainly  evident  that  Phoebe's  heart  was  not 
in  the  stuff  she  was  scribbling  that  afternoon,  for  she 
looked  up  nervously  when  any  of  the  staff  entered  or 
left  the  office,  and  started  apprehensively  whenever  the 
phone  rang,  and  watched  the  call-boy  anxiously  as  he 
answered  the  call.  Presently  it  rang  again,  and  after 
hanging  up  the  receiver  the  boy  approached  her  desk. 

385 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

"Miss  Smith  says  to  tell  you  that  the  Grabbe  special 
has  arrived,"  he  said. 

Miss  Smith  was  the  Western  Union  operator  at  the 
union  depot,  and  a  special  friend  of  Phoebe's  and  this  was 
the  call  that  Phoebe  had  been  waiting  for  so  anxiously. 

Hastily  thrusting  the  manuscript  upon  which  she  had 
been  working  into  her  sealskin  muff,  she  stepped  briskly 
out  of  the  office  and  down  the  dark,  narrow  stairs  to 
the  street. 

As  she  walked  up  Sixteenth  Street  she  observed  the 
passing  throng  interestedly  in  her  instinctive  search  for 
character.  Denver  was  a  right  smart  town  in  1902.  Its 
population  was  made  up  of  people  from  all  parts  of  the 
world.  The  various  names  on  the  sign-boards  of  the 
mercantile  houses  and  shops  of  the  principal  streets,  ran 
the  Asiatic  scale  from  China  to  Syria;  Europe  was  rep 
resented  from  Finland  to  Sicily.  Klondikers  rubbed  el 
bows  wth  Mexicans,  and  red-cheeked  Kanucks  exchanged 
curious  glances  with  trim  Japanese.  All  these  races 
mingling  together  good-humoredly  in  this  busy  inland 
city.  A  marvel  of  cosmopolitanism  weaving  its  wondrous 
racial  web  on  the  Great  Divide,  over  a  thousand  miles 
from  the  salty  tides. 

The  two  inches  of  snow  which  had  fallen  the  previous 
night  had  melted,  it  was  muddy  under  foot;  but  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly,  the  air  was  warm  and  balmy, 
and  the  view  of  the  white  mantled  Rockies  was  superb. 
Dozens  of  "lungers,"  the  Coloradoan's  name  for  con 
sumptives,  were  on  the  streets  this  sunny  afternoon. 
Most  of  these  poor  creatures  had  come  from  the  consump 
tive,  fog-smothered  East,  only  to  die,  perhaps,  in  a  few 
months,  then  to  be  quarreled  over  by  a  swarm  of  harpy 
undertakers  and  express  agents,  and  be  returned  in  due 
course  of  time  by  express  in  a  wooden  box  to  anxious 
friends  and  relatives  "down  East,"  with  the  fatal  cer 
tificate  tacked  on  the  lid:  "Cause  of  death,  pulmonary 
tuberculosis,"  etc.,  etc. 

How  Phoebe's  heart  bled  for  the  poor,  emaciated,  death- 
marked  creatures.  Ofttimes  these  distressed  health  seek- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        387 

ers  are  so  numerous  on  the  streets  and  in  the  lodging 
houses  of  Denver,  with  their  hacking,  death-rattling  cough 
and  blood  spitting,  that  ye  Old  Residenter,  having  merely 
contracted  a  case  of  common  la  grippe,  convinces  him 
self  that  he,  too,  has  become  infected;  and  accordingly 
makes  his  will,  only  to  joyfully  tear  it  up  again  when  he 
has  recovered  from  his  hard  wrestle  with  bromo-laxative. 

Phoebe  also  passed  window  after  window  of  the  numer 
ous  curio  shops  which  are  patronized  so  generously  by 
the  thousands  of  tourists  who  throng  the  city  every  sum 
mer.  Many  of  these  windows  are  filled  with  brilliantly- 
dyed  Navajo  blankets,  and  in  one  of  them  a  real  Navajo 
squaw  was  industriously  wreaving  as  an  advertisement. 

Several  gentlemen  recognized  Phoebe  and  bowed  a  polite 
greeting  as  she  threaded  her  way  among  the  hissing 
motor  cars  and  splendidly  varnished  vehicles,  drawn  by 
blooded  horses,  which  thronged  the  busy  thorofare.  They 
had  good  reason  to  thus  respectfully  address  this  clever 
woman,  for  she  had  the  life  of  the  town  at  her  fingers' 
ends,  and  it  only  required  the  push  of  her  magic  pencil 
to  mirror  lier  observations  faithfully  and  wittily  before 
the  public. 

She  was  of  a  superb,  full  formed  Juno  figure,  invari 
ably  gowned  in  an  attractive  and  stylish  manner,  and 
her  carefully  dressed  hair  shone  in  the  sun  like  the  finest 
spun  gold.  She  had  a  plump,  round  face,  almost  fat, 
but  charmingly  relieved  by  a  deeply  emotional  mouth, 
that  quivering  at  times  in  sympathetic  tenderness,  dim 
pled  prettily  when  she  smiled.  Her  nose  was  a  truly 
wonderful  creation,  shaped  a  la  Cyrano,  tho  of  much 
smaller  proportions.  Starting  from  the  head  with  a 
broad  base,  it.  suddenly  rounded  into  a  shapely  stem, 
and  Nature,  as  if  experimenting  with  noses  when  Phoebe 
was  born,  freakishly  gave  it  a  final  playful  pinch,  pro 
ducing  a  wonderfully  sharp,  peaked  tip,  that  jutted  out 
saucily  into  the  world,  a  thing  of  exquisite  sensitiveness, 
producing  an  effect  striking,  tho  not  unbecoming.  The 
crowning  attraction  of  this  gifted  woman  was  her  won 
derful  eyes,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  they  could  be  duplicated 


388        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

in  all  the  world.  Their  color  was  like  the  bluish  green 
of  the  turquoise,  but  instead  of  displaying  the  solid  col 
ored  pigment  of  this  handsome  gem-stone,  they  were 
perfectly  formed  transparent  crystals,  which  not  only 
held  the  original  color  in  suspension,  but  thru  which 
glittered  and  sifted  the  roseate  fires  of  brilliant  opals. 
They  seemed  to  be  almost  living  beings,  optical  chamel 
eons,  perhaps,  apparently  glancing  inward  upon  Phrebe's 
soul  as  readily  as  they  looked  out  upon  the  world.  There 
fore,  in  her  remarkable  delineation  of  character,  one  glance 
with  those  wonderful  eyes  seemed  to  impress  upon  her 
mind,  the  characters,  gowns,  figures,  and  the  very  souls 
of  those  society  belles  whom  she  was  commissioned  to  de 
scribe.  The  day  following  some  brilliant  function,  dozens 
of  these  handsome  creatures  were  painted  in  the  columns 
of  the  "Press,"  with  the  utmost  fidelity  and  detail.  No  one, 
not  even  burgomaster,  spider-hidden  David  Moore,  had 
ever  successfully  resisted  Phoebe's  request  when  once  her 
eyes  flashed  forth  their  desire  for  an  interview. 

At  the  intersection  of  Broadway,  Seventeenth,  and 
Tremont  streets,  is  the  leading  hotel  of  Denver.  An  im 
mense,  nine-storied,  fireproof  building.  The  Brown 
Palace  Hotel  is  the  name  given  the  establishment  at  the 
top  of  the  huge  register  lying  upon  the  beautiful  onyx 
counter  of  the  hostelry;  but  to  Coloradoans,  especially 
the  society  folks  of  Denver,  it  is  familiarly  known  as 
"Mrs.  Brown's."  Within  its  massive  walls  are  huge 
parlors,  ball-rooms,  libraries,  grills,  dining  halls,  and  tier 
upon  tier,  suite  upon  suite,  of  elegantly  furnished  living 
apartments. 

This  famous  hostelry  has  by  custom  become  the  uni 
versal  Mecca,  not  only  of  Colorado  brides  and  grooms, 
but  its  fame  is  far-reaching  beyond  the  State. 

Dusky  Spanish  and  Mexican  belles  from  the  distant 
San  Juan  and  Uncompahgre  districts,  Russian  and  Polish 
beauties  from  the  sugar-beet  districts  of  Greeley  and  Fort 
Collins.  Cattle  girls  from  Routt  county,  on  the  Yampa, 
with  their  short  skirts  and  high-heeled  boots.  The  fair, 
soft  complexioned  daughters  of  prosperous  canteloupe 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         389 

growers  from  Rocky  Ford  and  Las  Animas,  and  rich 
fruit  growers  from  the  valleys  of  the  Gunnison  and  the 
Grand.  Dainty,  nut-brown  Italian  maids  and  their  coal- 
miner  husbands  from  Trinidad  and  the  Spanish  counties 
on  the  New  Mexican  border.  Flaxen-haired  Swedish 
belles  from  the  Clear  Creek  and  Gilpin  mining  districts,  not 
to  mention  the  numerous  representatives  of  the  more 
familiar  races  of  the  Eastern  states,  the  English,  Dutch, 
Scotch,  Irish,  and  the  Germans.  All  here  at  Mrs.  Brown's, 
booked  for  a  day  or  so,  enjoying  their  first  jump  off  in 
the  great  sea  of  Matrimony,  and  fairly  touching  elbows 
with  many  of  Colorado's  millionaires.  Feasting  on  rare 
viands  and  sleeping  on  beds  that  could  rest  a  king  in 
comfort. 

The  Brown  is  also  a  favorite  stopping  place  for  tour 
ists  and  world  travelers  en  route  from  the  effete  East  to 
luxurious  San  Francisco.  Sometimes,  when  closely  ques 
tioned,  New  Yorkers  have  admitted  that  they  could  stand 
the  fare  at  Mrs.  Brown's  for  a  few  days,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  they  were  fresh  from  the  luxuries  of  the  Wal 
dorf-Astoria  and  others. 

It  was  to  this  same  Mrs.  Brown's  that  Phoebe  hied  her 
self  this  afternoon,  in  order  to  secure  an  interview  with 
the  notorious  John  Wreckor  Grabbe. 

This  "  Bet-you-a-million"  celebrity  was  in  high  good 
humor  this  particular  day,  the  success  of  his  special  train 
idea  having  far  exceeded  his  expectations.  The  Associated 
Press  the  previous  morning  had  given  him  a  full  column 
as  he  left  Chicago  with  his  motley  crew  of  followers.  The 
Burlington  passenger  department  had  promised  him  a 
fast  run  to  Denver,  and  the  eyes  of  the  country  were  full 
upon  him. 

As  they  sped  thru  the  villages  at  a  mad  gait,  and  even 
scorned  the  larger  towns  and  cities  in  their  spectacular 
flight  across  the  Middle  West,  Grabbe  was  entranced 
with  his  importance.  Why!  They  hadn't  even  stopped 
at  Lincoln,  the  Nebraska  Capital,  his  press  agent  had 
seen  to  that.  And  all  for  what?  Just  to  let  the  American 


390         THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

people  know  how  great  a  man  was  John  Wreckor  Grabbe 
—  at  least  that  is  what  he  thought. 

What  a  mission  was  his! 

Issuing  spectacularly  in  a  magnificent  special  train 
from  out  the  East  in  company  with  his  faithful  followers, 
dashing  scornfully  thru  the  West,  and  on  into  Colorado, 
and  with  one  mighty  stroke  overwhelming  his  antagonist 
and  carrying  away  for  his  rich  spoil,  the  mastery  of  Col 
orado  Steel. 

Ah!  If  only  his  friend,  the  illustrious  First  Citizen, 
could  behold  him  now. 

But  he  would  see  him  soon.  For  returning  to  little 
old  New  York,  fresh  and  victorious  from  the  combat, 
with  the  admiring  eyes  of  the  whole  American  Nation 
upon  him,  he  would  throw  himself  into  the  paternal 
arms  of  the  First  Citizen,  dutifully  deliver  the  goods, 
and  receive  the  paternal  blessing.  For  it  was  widely 
rumored  that  John  Wreckor  Grabbe  was  going  to  do  a 
little  stunt  for  J.  Pierpont  Morgan,  in  adding  another 
choice  morsel  to  the  larder  of  the  Steel  Trust. 

As  Phoebe  followed  him  about  the  corridors  of  the 
hotel  in  an  endeavor  to  corner  him  for  the  coveted  in 
terview,  she  saw  at  once  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  his 
person. 

It  was  his  PAUNCH. 

She  made  a  note  of  that,  for  dressed  in  a  great  vest  of 
black  and  white  checked  silk,  it  was  decidedly  more  ex 
pressive  than  his  face. 

Such  an  expanse. 

A  vast  balloon  of  heaving  cuticle,  with  fleshy  folds 
visibly  and  constantly  agitated  by  the  contending  fermen 
tations  of  Budweiser,  Mumm's  Extra  Dry,  boiled  cabbage 
and  pickles. 

An  enormous  gold  watch  chain  crawled  over  this 
bloated  protuberance,  shining  brightly  upon  the  loud  vest 
and  disappearing  into  a  huge  pocket  just  in  reach  of  the 
creature's  stuffy  hand,  which  had  to  reach  straight  down 
the  side  and  then  suddenly  dart  in  toward  the  paunch  at 
the  waist-line  in  order  to  make  connection.  From  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        391 

center  of  his  cravat  gleamed  an  enormous  diamond,  and 
his  chubby,  fat  hands  blazed  with  precious  gems  ex 
quisitely  set  in  wide  bands  of  chased  gold.  Tho  they 
were  beautiful,  yet  it  seemed  to  Phosbe  that,  it  was  almost 
a  sacrilege  of  the  goldsmith's  art  to  adorn  such  a  mon 
strosity. 

When  Phoebe  at  last  succeeded  in  cornering  the  Paunch, 
which  occurred  in  the  main  lobby  of  the  Brown,  she 
handed  him  her  card.  He  examined  it  closely  with  his 
small,  beady  eyes,  and  turning  to  one  of  his  retinue,  he 
whispered  in  his  ear,  at  which  the  follower  nodded  and 
likewise  replied  in  a  whisper.  After  being  thus  charged 
with  a  few  volts  of  intellect  by  his  handy  retainer,  the 
Paunch  slowly  distended  itself  to  the  proportions  of  a 
gigantic  sausage,  and  with  the  magnificent  air  of  a  cor 
pulent  Malvolio,  the  monstrosity  spoke. 

"Um-m,  I  see.  You  represent  the  'Press.'  I  under 
stand  it  is  the  leading  evening  sheet  of  Denver.  Er-r, 
you  know  about  my  special  train.  Er-r,  it  broke  a  record, 
you  know."  And  here  the  eyes  blinked  eloquently  and 
the  Paunch  heaved  with  pride. 

"What  is  my  object  in  coming  to  Denver?  Colorado 
Steel?  That's  right.  A  large  stockholder?  Yes,  I  ex 
pect  to  get  control.  This  man  Dodge  has  done  me  dirt 
long  enough.  Besides,  I  want  to  actively  manage  the 
affairs  of  the  concern,  and  I'm  going  to  get  it,  see?  Um-m, 
yes,  I  like  Colorado  and  the  West  well  enough.  _  Going 
to  be  a  great  country  some  day  when  Eastern  capital  gets 
to  coming  in.  But  I  like  Noo  Yawk,  you  know.  A  great 
town,  that;  so  handy  to  Lunnon.  and  so  many  of  my 
friends  live  there.  Pierp,  too,  holds  out  there-  when  he 
ain't  in  Lunnon,  and  you  know  I'm  ace  high  with  him. 
Quite  a  time  we  had  with  L.  &  N.  not  long  ago.  Nearly 
scared  my  friend  Belmont  to  death.  But  I've  got  a 
heart,  madame.  I  ain't  half  so  bad  as  I'm  painted. 
Bless  those  boys.  Um-m,  you  know  about  my  school  for 
boys,  don't  you?  Well,  it's  all  true.  We  must  never  so 
far  forget  ourselves  in  this  game  of  life,  as  to  overlook 
the  youngsters.  Er-r,  I  guess  that's  about  all  I  can  think 


392         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  now.  Come  and  see  me  after  the  election  and  I'll 
give  you  another  breeze.  Don't  forget  to  put  that  in 
about  Dodge,  for  I'm  going  to  get  him  sure  pop,  and 
he  may  know  enough  to  take  the  hint  when  he  reads 
how  friendly  I  am  towards  him,"  and  with  this  parting 
admonition,  the  Paunch  slowly  waddled  toward  the  ele 
vator,  followed  by  his  satellites. 

When  Phoebe  sat  down  to  write  up  the  interview  for 
the  "Press"  that  same  afternoon,  that  paunch  of  Grabbe's 
greatly  obscured  her  vision.  She  would  have  asked  noth 
ing  better  than  to  have  described  it  in  all  its  remarkable 
gyrations,  but  thought  it  best  for  the  interests  of  the 
"  Press"  to  omit  it.  In  watching  its  amblings  was  the 
real  and  true  interview,  but  alas  for  truth,  Phoebe  wrote 
the  conventional  otherwise,  and  the  good  citizens  of  Den 
ver  were  apprised  in  the  columns  of  the  "Press"  that 
evening  that  John  Wreckor  Grabbe  and  his  faithful  fol 
lowers  were  domiciled  at  Mrs.  Brown's. 


CHAPTER  IX 

John  Charles  Rose,  who  had  long  since  established 
himself  as  the  greatest  corporation  lawyer  of  Denver,  was 
an  early  caller  on  Grabbe  that  evening.  After  his  signal 
defeat  for  congress,  John  Charles  had  suddenly  forgotten 
the  sacred  cause  of  the  masses,  the  senate  chamber  of 
the  United  States  and  the  Democratic  party,  and  had  set 
about  to  make  himself  the  idol  of  the  corporative  inter 
ests  of  the  state.  His  success  as  an  attorney  for  the 
Smelter  Trust  had  interested  other  Wall  Street  concerns, 
who  held  extensive  interests  in  the  West,  and  he  soon 
became  the  confidential  agent  of  the  whole  New  York 
crowd.  To  well-informed  Coloradoans,  however,  he  was 
known  and  treated  as  the  arch  spy  of  Wall  Street  inter 
ests,  and  his  various  machinations  in  the  state  legislature 
and  the  courts,  had  completely  estranged  him  from  his 
public-spirited  and  thoroly  Westernized  father.  It  was 
he  who  having  represented  the  Grabbe  interests  in  Col 
orado  Steel  in  the  circuit  court,  had  won,  after  a  fierce 
legal  combat,  a  court  order  requiring  an  election  of  officers 
of  that  corporation. 

The  Paunch  greeted  his  attorney  with  characteristic 
you-may-please-kiss-my-foot  manner,  and  together  they 
outlined  a  program  for  the  morrow's  work. 

Now,  there  was  one  man  in  Denver  whom  Grabbe  had 
actually  expressed  a  desire  to  meet,  and  that  individual 
was  Standish  Brown,  whose  stock  Grabbe  desired  to  vote 
at  the  election.  Rose  and  several  other  parties  interested 
in  Colorado  Steel  had  informed  Grabbe  of  Brown's  enmity 
toward  Dodge,  and  it  was  a  part  of  the  Paunch's  plan 
to  whip  Brown  into  line  and  vote  the  mine  owner's  stock, 
he  having  already  written  Brown  requesting  his  proxy, 
but  from  whom  he  had  as  yet  received  no  reply. 

Rose  readily  assented  to  his  client's  request,  that  he 

393 


394        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

arrange  a  meeting  between  them,  and  altho  the  attorney 
had  never  held  a  conversation  with-  Standish  since  his 
ignominious  dismissal,  yet  he  did  not  fear  to  meet  him 
in  any  way  pertaining  to  his  legal  interests. 

Promptly  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  attorney 
escorted  the  Paunch  to  Brown's  office  in  the  Insurance 
building,  and  with  unperturbed  equanimity  and  positive 
boldness,  he  introduced  his  client  and  bowed  himself 
from  their  presence.  Standish  was  quite  taken  off  his 
guard  at  his  former  agent's  boldness,  and  he  made  no 
comment  as  that  worthy  abruptly  disappeared,  but  greeted 
the  Paunch  cordially,  saying: 

"  Delighted  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Grabbe,  have  a  chair." 

The  Paunch  sank  into  it  with  a  satisfied  grunt,  and 
pulling  forth  a  couple  of  cigars,  offered  one  to  Standish, 
which  was  declined  with  thanks. 

"Huh!  Don't  smoke,  Brown?  You're  missing  a  heap 
of  life,"  he  said,  as  he  lit  one  of  the  huge  brown  clubs 
and  blew  the  smoke  toward  the  ceiling.  Whenever  the 
Paunch  had  business  to  attend  to,  he  invariably  proceeded 
to  saturate  himself  with  the  aroma  of  the  fragrant  weed, 
for  true  to  the  former  habits  of  his  first  calling,  a  "drum 
mer"  for  a  notion  house  in  Illinois,  he  always  approached 
a  man  on  a  business  proposition  in  the  same  manner  as 
when  he  used  to  carry  the  grip;  interesting  a  merchant 
in  his  line  of  samples  by  handing  him  a  cheap  cigar  and 
telling  him  vulgar  stories,  and  at  that  critical  point  where 
his  victim  had  fallen  sufficiently  under  the  spell  of  the 
deadly  cheroot  in  conjunction  with  the  point  of  the 
story,  proceed  to  separate  him  from  his  money. 

This  easy  method  had  brought  the  Paunch  much  of  his 
notoriety  and  worldly  chattels,  and  his  entire  career  had 
been  one  of  graft  and"  lucre  along  the  lines  of  his  original 
traveling-man  days;  with  the  addition  of  whatever  sug 
gestions  his  faithful  followers  might  offer.  Almost  devoid 
of  everything  in  intellect  save  a  remarkable  development  of 
the  raiding  habit,  the  Paunch  had  surrounded  himself 
with  a  bunch  of  sporty,  but  clever  fellows,  who  usually 
furnished  the  brains  for  his  financial  operations,  while 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        395 

he  furnished  the  bold  front  and  the  lucre.  Squatting 
under  the  green-goods  tree,  and  burning  up  huge  Ha- 
vanas,  the  Paunch  was  worshipped  by  his  flatterers  much 
as  was  Nero,  in  the  days  of  ancient  Rome.  Like  "  Bronze- 
beard,"  too,  he  was  a  player  upon  the  lyre,  but  the  strings 
of  his  instrument  were  strands  of  barb-wire,  hung  be 
tween  fence  posts.  At  this  period  of  his  career,  however, 
and  having  long  since  quit  the  selling  of  barb-wire,  he 
had  also  abandoned  the  lyre,  its  music  had  become  too 
soft  and  delicate.  He  had  substituted  the  cymbals.  Their 
harsh,  metallic  clash  was  the  sweetest  music  to  him.  Like 
the  Fejees,  he  admired  a  loud,  monotonous  clang.  And 
to  the  loud  clash  and  clang  of  the  cymbals  the  Paunch 
was  hailed  by  his  adherents  as  the  coming  Potentate  of 
Steel. 

Grabbe  looked  closely  at  the  tall,  calm-eyed  man  sitting 
at  the  desk  in  front  of  him.  He  was  the  one  man  who 
could  make  him  supreme  in  Colorado  Steel.  The  thought 
delighted  him.  And,  too,  this  man  had  been  described  to 
him  as  a  deadly  enemy  of  Theodore  Dodge.  "Egad!" 
thought  Grabbe,  "how  I  love  the  fellow,"  and  the  Paunch 
heaved  and  trembled  with  carnal  ecstasy. 

"  Brown,"  he .  began,  from  under  a  dense  cloud  of 
smoke.  "You  and  I  are  in  the  same  boat,  I  see.  Both 

got  it  in  for  Dodge.  D him,  anyway  He's  given  me 

a  long  chase,  but  I'm  going  to  land  on  him  good  and 
hard  today.  Um-m,  I  suppose  you  got  my  request  for 
the  proxy  0.  K?" 

Standish  nodded. 

"I  should  have  advised  you,  Brown,  that  outside  of 
your  holdings,  I  own,  and  hold  legal  proxies,  for  exactly 
forty-nine  and  five-tenths  per  cent  of  the  stock  of  Col 
orado  Steel.  Now  I  think  I  can  beat  Dodge  today,  even 
at  that  figure,  and  without  your  stock;  but  if  you  will 
give  me  the  authority  to  vote  your  stock,  it  wrill  be  a 
cinch.  Oh!  they  don't  know  me,  Brown,  until  I  once 
get  after  'em,  and  then  they  lay  down,  you  can  bet.  I 

beat  the  life  out  of  the  boys  in  American  Wire.  G 

what  a  lot  of  suckers  they  were  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  and  here 


396        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  Paunch  shook  with  exultant  glee.  "  Darn  you, 
Brown,  you'd  a  died  laffin'  to  seen  'em.  Say — did  you 
catch  on  to  my  deal  in  D.  R.  I.  &  N.  W.?  My  but  that 
was  easy  money.  Had  the  Milwaukee,  Burlington  and 
Northwestern,  all  scrapping  over  a  few  measly  miles  of 
railroad,  and  a  cheap  bridge  across  the  Mississippi  at 
Rock  Island.  Sold  out  to  'em,  and  cleaned  up  a  cool 
million  in  six  months.  Darn  'em,  they're  talking  about 
it  yet  down  there  in  the  bottoms.  But  the  smoothest  deal 

of  all,  Brown,  was  the  big  L.  &  N.  killing.  And  say " 

he  continued,  as  he  leaned  over  in  his  chair,  addressing 
Standish  in  the  most  friendly  and  confidential  air  pos 
sible,  "Old  Pierp  told  me  himself,  that  if  I  didn't  look 
out,  he'd  give  me  a  good  beating.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ain't 
that  rich?  Egad,  Brown,  old  Pierp's  a  brick.  A  regular 
fire-eater.  If  you  ever  come  down  to  Noo  Yawk  I  will 
sure  introduce  you." 

By  this  time  Grabbe  felt  that  the  time  had  come  to 
separate  Standish  from  the  proxy  he  so  ardently  coveted. 
Indeed,  he  had  spent  quite  a  bit  of  valuable  time  with 
this  petty  mine  owner,  and  he  must  be  up  and  doing. 
Quite  a  bit  of  soft-soap  wasted  on  this  long,  lank  West 
erner,  but  what  matter,  the  game  was  worth  it,  and  now 
to  land  the  goods. 

"Well,  Brown,  how  about  that  proxy?  Am  I  to  have 
it,  or  will  you  vote  the  stock  yourself?" 

Standish  looked  at  him  good-humoredly,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Grabbe,  the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  I  have 
already  pledged  my  proxy  to  another  party." 

"  WTiat !"  exclaimed  the  Paunch  excitedly.  "  The  deuce 
you  say.  Who  to?" 

And  as  Standish  looked  steadily,  almost  mischievously, 
into  the  eyes  of  the  most  vulgar  and  notorious  millionaire 
in  the  United  States,  he  replied  coolly,  "Theodore  Dodge." 

"  Well,  for  the  love  of  gawd  I"  roared  Grabbe  in  angry 
astonishment,  glaring  at  Standish.  in  speechless  rage. 
Then  partially  recovering  himself,  he  managed  to  say, 
"Confound  it,  Brown,  I  —  I  don't  quite  understand  this 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         397 

deal.  I  was  informed  upon  good  authority  that  you  and 
Dodge  were  mortal  enemies." 

"  Dodge  has  cut  me  up  considerable  in  times  past,  Mr. 
Grabbe,  but  we  have  patched  up  our  differences,  at  least 
in  this  matter,  and  stand  together  in  Colorado  Steel. 
Kind  of  a  home  enterprise,  you  know,"  he  added,  with 
sly  significance. 

The  Paunch  heaved  silently  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said: 

"Brown,  the  price  of  Colorado  Steel  in  the  market  to 
day,  is  eighty-one.  I  will  give  you  an  even  hundred  for 
all  of  your  holdings  and  a  bonus  of  ten  thousand  besides, 
and  give  you  a  certified  check  for  the  whole  amount  this 
very  minute.  Come,  gol  darn  it.  Come — call  it  done, 
now!"  he  added  appealingly,  "Just  to  let  me  hand  this 
man,  Dodge,  his  trimmings,  and  put  him  down  and  out 
for  good." 

"  Mr.  Grabbe,"  replied  Standish  sternly,  "  You  can't 
buy  that  stock  for  five  hundred.  It  is,  as  I  stated  before, 
pledged  to  Theodore  Dodge."  And  for  almost  the  first 
time  in  his  lurid  career,  the  Paunch  had  come  face  to 
face  with  a  MORAL  force. 

Rising  unsteadily  from  his  chair  as  John  Charles  looked 
in  at  the  door,  Grabbe  slowly  extended  his  fat,  chubby 
hand  to  the  tall  mine  owner. 

"Brown,"  he  said  slowly,  his  lips  dripping  from  the 
juice  of  the  cigar  stub  which  he  was  grinding  ferociously 
between  his  ponderous  jaws,  "I  don't  quite  savy  your 
style.  I  never  heard  tell  before  of  a  man  passing  up 
a  nice  clean  profit  as  you  did  just  now,  just  to  keep  your 
word  with  a  man  who  has  fought  you  for  nearly  twenty 
years.  By  gawd,  sir,  you're  a  brick,  sir;  and  dam-fi-don't 
admire  you." 


CHAPTER    X 

Why  is  it  that  so  many  men,  some  of  whom  are  truly 
great,  give  so  little  credence  to  a  woman's  advice? 

In  spite  of  his  wife's  »/ojitive  assurance,  Theodore  Dodge 
considered  himself  ab,4nately  defeated.  Even  now  he 
was  planning  the  disposition  of  his  affairs  after  he  had 
experienced  the  fatal  coup  de  grace  which  John  Wreckor 
Grabbe  would  surely  administer  to  him. 

He  had  already  passed  the  greatest  crisis  of  his  life, 
when  in  his  inability  to  accept  anything  but  success  he 
had  attempted  suicide,  and  saved  by  his  wife's  timely 
action,  had  learned  the  rudiments  of  failure  and  regained 
his  mental  equilibrium ;  yet,  to  this  end,  that  the  informa 
tion  which  his  wife  had  imparted  to  him  with  such  posi 
tive  assurance,  that  Standish  Brown  would  surely  support 
him  in  the.  coming  election,  had  scarcely  impressed  him. 
He  was  absolutely  void  of  faith  in  her  statement.  And 
why? 

Why  was  it  that  the  Dauphin  of  France  and  his  min 
isters  would  not  listen  to  Joan  of  Arc,  but  must  delay 
and  quibble  for  days,  and  then  yield  only  when  the  sol 
diery  loudly  demanded  the  support  of  her  claims?  With 
the  glorious  result — France  saved  from  the  invader. 

Why  was  it  that  Peter  the  Great  of  Russia  and  his 
generals  would  not  listen  to  the  noble  Swede  girl,  Cath 
erine;  but  must  parley  for  days  with  their  forces  com 
pletely  surrounded  by  the  victorious  Turks?  Then  her 
advice  was  reluctantly  followed  after  every  other  device 
had  failed.  The  result — Peter,  his  army,  and  his  gen 
erals  escaped  capture,  and  he  returning  to  Moscow  made 
his  mighty  empire  greater  than  ever. 

These  are  instances  where  the  advice  of  women  finally 
prevailed  thru  sheer  force  of  circumstances. 


399 


400        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Calpurnia  tried  to  save  her  husband  from  assassination 
on  the  Ides  of  March. 

The  wife  of  Pilate  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  pro 
nouncing  the  doom  of  the  gentle  Shepherd  of  Nazareth. 

These  are  instances  where  woman  discerned  and  im 
plored,  but  man  would  not  heed. 

Mrs.  Tabor  washed  clothes  to  provide  a  miner,  whom 
her  husband  had  long  since  refused  to  continue  to  aid, 
with  a  grub-stake.  The  result-  1  great  bonanza  struck, 
and  Tabor  became  rich. 

Ah !  Woman.  Thou  art  heavenly  eyed  and  future  dis 
cerning,  yet  so  oft  denied  by  incredulous  man. 

There  is  one  family  of  men,  however,  who  treasure 
the  intuitive  qualities  of  their  women  as  they  do  their 
very  souls. 

The  Rothschilds,  the  Frankfort  Jews. 

For  centuries  it  has  -been  their  custom  to  have  the  oldest 
surviving  female  member  of  the  'family  pass  upon  the 
final  hearing  of  any  important  transaction.  The  result 
— the  famous  House  of  Rothschilds,  the  greatest  and 
most  powerful  financial  institution  in  the  world. 

When  infants,  men  are  suckled  by  their  mothers  and 
grow  to  childhood  in  the  same  unselfish  care.  Passing 
into  young  manhood,  it  is  from  the  mother  they  often 
seek  that  guidance  which  frequently  the  father  cannot 
give.  But  when  they  become  men,  and  wed.  When 
the  wife  replaces  the  mother,  a  man's  council  seems  prone 
to  rest  in  himself. 

It  is  the  result  of  a  delusive  theory. 

At  wedlock  he  becomes  the  acknowledged  head  of  the 
house,  later,  perhaps,  of  a  family.  He  is  the  wage-earner, 
the  bread-winner,  the  administrator.  And  all  these  re 
sponsibilities  but  confirm  his  theory,  viz.:  as  the  head 
of  the  family,  he  certainly  should  possess  the  brain  force 
to  support  it.  He  fully  convinces  himself  that  he  has,  and 
grows  firm  in  the  absurd  belief  that  all  his  acts  are  final. 
Naturally,  when  he  faces  some  sudden  crisis  in  his  affairs, 
and  cannot  solve  it  alone,  it  is  then  to  him  wholly  useless 
to  seek  aid  from  his  wife.  Why?  Because,  does  he  not 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         401 

possess  all  the  brains?  True,  his  wife  may  be  ever  so 
clever,  charming,  yea — actually  intellectual;  but  when 
it  comes  to  deciding  a  matter  which  requires  the  ponderous 
exercise  of  substantial  gray  matter,  why,  it  is  impossible 
for  his  wife  to  act.  It  is  absurd. 

But  usually,  at  just  this  very  time,  his  wife  readily 
and  easily  opens  the  way  by  some  swift,  indefinable  mental 
action;  then  a  man  is  forced  to  admit  that  he  has  dis 
covered  something  new  in  her.  He  will  hardly  credit  her 
with  brain  power,  however,  nor  that  she  really  commend- 
ably  thought  out  a  solution  of  the  master  problem.  She 
only  happened  to  hit  it.  A  mere  accident,  a  freak  cir 
cumstance  of  thought.  But  if  he  only  KNEW — some 
of  the  brightest  men  in  the  United  States  today  are  those 
who  have  this  quality  of  a  woman's  brain  as  a  foundation 
for  their  brilliancy. 

In  men  this  feminine  quality  is  often  called,  for  lack 
of  a  better  name  —  TACT.  And  this,  indeed,  may  be  a 
good  name  for  it,  but  whatever  it  is,  it  is  surely  the  deep 
imprint  of  a  mother's  bright  brain  upon  her  son's. 

How  about  Chauncey  Depew? 

Do  you  think  he  could  marshal  the  Vanderbilts  the  way 
he  has  without  this  peerless  mental  quality?  Father 
them,  mother  them,  marry  them,  bury  them.  Make 
matches  for  the  daughters,  and  with  equal  facility  find 
mates  for  the  sons.  Have  them  kiss  and  make  up  their 
quarrels,  and  in  addition  to  this  bewildering  maze  of 
domestic  responsibilities,  incidentally  conduct  a  love  affair 
of  his  own ;  fill  a  high  position  with  the  New  York  Central 
and  Hudson  River  Railroad ;  adorn  the  staid  body  of  the 
Senate  of  the  United  States  with  his  presence  as  an  active 
member;  and  also  furnish  those  inimitable  jokes  for 
which  he  is  famous. 

Then  John  Hay. 

This  poet,  historian.  This  great  Secretary  of  State. 
This  personal  friend  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  able  cab 
inet  man  of  the  Roosevelt  administration.  This  deliverer 
of  Pekin.  This  little  man  who  opened  up  the  Orient 
thru  the  China  gates. 


402        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

They  say  it's  tact^with  him.  But  it's  only  a  vein  of 
the  world's  most  precious  intellect  in  him.  A  generous 
slice  of  woman's  intangible,  intuitive  mentality. 

So  Theodore  looked  upon  his  wife's  statement  as  to 
'Standish  Brown's  attitude  in  the  coming  election  with 
absolute  incredulity.  She  would  not  tell  him  the  source 
of  her  information,  but  merely  insisted  it  was  true.  But 
to  him  it  little  mattered  now.  He  was  defeated,  and  had 
lived  thru  it.  This  was  his  uppermost  thought.  Indeed, 
he  was  almost  happy  with  his  mind  free  and  rid  of  the 
heaviness  and  despondency  of  the  past  few  months.  The 
charming  revelation  of  his  wife's  love  and  devotion  in 
the  episode  of  his  attempted  suicide,  had  leavened  the 
loaf  of  his  business  cares  and  he  was  now  his  old  self, 
active,  happy,  and  contented.  He  could  go  down  to 
defeat  now  and  smile.  In  fact,  he  had  successfully 
passed  the  most  acute  crisis  of  his  life. 

When  he  arrived  at  his  office  the  morning  of  the  elec 
tion,  he  hastily  looked  thru  his  mail.  Yes,  what  he  had 
expected  had  at  last  arrived.  Tearing  open  an  envelope 
bearing  a  Mexican  post  stamp,  out  dropped  a  proxy  from 
a  stockholder  of  Colorado  Steel,  who  resided  in  the  City 
of  Mexico,  giving  him  authority  to  vote  a  generous  sized 
block  of  stock.  With  this  last  proxy  in  his  possession, 
Theodore  had  his  secretary  give  him  the  final  total  of 
the  stock  he  owned  personally,  and  that  which  he  was 
authorized  to  vote  by  proxies.  He  did  not  know  exactly 
how  much  Grabbe  controlled,  but  inasmuch  as  the  Paunch 
had  announced  to  the  representatives  of  the  press  that 
he  undoubtedly  controlled  the  election,  Dodge  could  only 
assume  that  he  had  secured  proxies  for  all  the  outstand 
ing  stock,  except  that  which  was  controlled  by  himself, 
and  those  shares  listed  on  the  stock  register  as  be 
longing  to  Standish  Brown. 

The  amount  of  stock  which  Theodore  could  vote,  added 
to  that  which  was  listed  to  Standish  Brown,  made  up  a 
total  of  a  slight  fraction  more  than  fifty  per  cent.  The 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         403 

proxy  just  received  from  Mexico,  had  carried  such  a  com 
bination  of  holdings  just  over  the  line  of  control. 

But  did  Brown  possess  all  the  stock  with  which  he  was 
credited?  If  he  had  parted  with  any  of  it,  Grabbe  un 
doubtedly  controlled  the  election.  Or,  if  Brown  chose 
to  vote  with  Grabbe,  or  if  he  refused  to  vote  at  all,  Dodge  * 
felt  himself  defeated  in  either  case.  In  any  event,  the 
balance  of  power  laid  with  Brown,  and  try  as  he  would 
Dodge  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  the  statement 
of  his  wife  to  the  effect  that  Brown  intended  to  support 
him,  in  view  of  the  many  good  and  sufficient  reasons 
which  Brown  had  to  even  matters  up  with  him  for  past 
wrongs  inflicted. 

Hoping  against  hope,  however,  Theodore  made  a  care* 
ful  mental  note  of  the  exact  amount  of  Brown's  holdings, 
in  the  event  that  if  he  could  by  some  means  gage  Brown's 
disposition  before  the  crucial  moment,  it  would  relieve 
him  greatly  and  assist  him  in  rounding  out  a  few  im 
portant  matters  which  would  probably  develop  from  the 
election. 


406        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

tered  defiantly  at  the  glaring,  beady  eyes  of  the  Paunch, 
and  tho  fully  prepared  for  defeat,  Theodore  was  almost 
gay  and  reckless  in  his  demeanor.  The  deadly  warfare 
of  the  past  few  months  was  now  to  culminate  in  one  last 
fierce  battle. 

Which  would  be  the  victor,  the  Genius  or  the  Brute? 

Grabbers  eyes  snapped  with  suppressed  excitement  and 
uncertainty  as  the  affair  proceeded.  It  was  so  different 
from  a  horse  race  or  a  poker  game.  This  corporation 
sport  was  weighted  with  too  much  red-tape  to  suit  the 
professional  gambler.  There  was  a  monotonous  uncer 
tainty  about  this  tedious  election  which  maddened  him. 

Could  he  break  the  Colorado  line?  His  force  was 
mighty.  The  bundle  of  proxies  at  his  side,  added  to  his 
personal  holdings,  represented  forty-nine  and  five-tenths 
per  cent  of  the  entire  issue  of  Colorado  Steel.  He  re 
quired  fifty  per  cent  to  play  even,  and  a  fraction  over  to 
win.  Had  Dodge  been  able  to  secure  the  balance  of  the 
full  issue  of  one  hundred  per  cent?  It  seemed  impossible 
to  him.  "What  a  chump  Brown  was,"  he  thought, 
"missing  the  chance  of  a  lifetime  to  get  next  to  Dodge." 
However,  it  was  not  Grabbe's  fault  if  he  was  beaten  in 
this  fight.  He  had  scoured  every  portion  of  the  country 
for  the  stock  of  Colorado  Steel.  For  some  of  it  he  had 
paid  grossly  extravagant  prices.  But  what  matter  if  it 
brought  victory,  he  would  boost  it  still  higher  and  then 
unload. 

Again  he  thought,  "  Will  the  Colorado  line  hold?"  He 
could  not  tell  by  Dodge's  countenance.  He  was  smiling, 
almost  gay.  He  could  not  tell  by  the  secretary's  face, 
as  that  individual  had  his  back  turned  to  him,  and  was 
busy  arranging  the  books  for  the  final  round;  so  the 
Paunch  fiercely  chewed  the  stub  of  his  cigar  and  grimly 
awaited  the  issue. 

As  the  stockholders'  names  were  called  out  by  the  secre 
tary's  clerk  in  regular  alphabetical  order,  he  was  answered, 
either  by  Grabbe's  secretary,  or  by  Theodore  Dodge  in 
person,  according  as  their  respective  proxies  or  personal 
holdings  indicated.  Then  the  amount  of  stock  so  voted 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        407 

was  checked  off  opposite  the  stockholder's  name  upon  the 
stock  register  by  the  secretary  of  the  corporation,  and 
the  proxy  turned  over  to  a  committee  of  directors  who  had 
been  appointed,  as  required  by  the  by-laws,  to  pass  upon 
the  legality  of  the  proxies. 

The  intensity  of  the  battle  grew  rapidly  as  the  calling 
of  the  long  list  of  names  proceeded,  and  when  Standish 
Brown's  name  was  called,  there  was  no  response  from 
either  side.  Theodore  instantly  took  advantage  of  the 
secretary's  hesitation  by  announcing  that  Brown's  stock 
would  be  voted  as  soon  as  the  proper  proxy  was  made  out. 
It  was  a  wild  guess  of  his,  but  somehow  it  came  to  him 
to  instantly  announce  it,  and  as  the  officer  of  the  court 
made  no  objection,  the  election  proceeded. 

Presently  one  of  the  doorkeepers  brought  Theodore  an 
envelope  addressed  to  him  and  marked  "Immediate." 
Opening  it  hastily,  he  found  that  it  contained  Brown's 
proxy,  authorizing  him  to  vote  the  entire  block  of  stock 
for  the  best  interests  of  Colorado  Steel.  Theodore  could 
scarcely  believe  his  eyes.  His  adorable  wife  had  told  him 
the  truth.  He  was  still  master  of  Colorado  Steel. 

The  Paunch  noticed  the  incident,  and  tho  his  face 
fell  as  he  suspected  the  truth,  he  still  had  hopes. 

At  the  close  of  the  listing  and  voting,  Theodore  voted 
Brown's  stock  and  the  books  were  declared  closed.  Shortly 
afterward  the  secretary  announced  that  every  share  of 
the  corporation's  stock  was  represented  and  voted.  The 
committee  on  proxies  reported  that  every  proxy  pre 
sented  was  legally  executed  in  accordance  with  the  by 
laws,  and  had,  therefore,  been  properly  voted. 

The  Colorado  line  had  held,  the  battle  was  over.  The 
Wall  -Street  crowd  had  lost  by  a  very  slight  margin  the 
control  of  the  millions  of  dollars  which  was  invested  in 
this  great  corporation.  The  issue  had  been  decided  by 
a  mere  fraction  of  one  per  cent. 

During  the  last  few  moments  of  the  battle  Theodore 
had  watched  his  opponent  closely.  Once  he  thought  that 
the  Paunch  would  succumb  to  apoplexy,  for  the  veins 
in  his  bullet-like  head  grew  dark  and  purple,  and  his  tiny 


408        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

eyes  glassy  as  the  announcement  of  the  proxy  committee 
was  made. 

The  former  directors  were  all  re-elected,  Grabbe,  realiz 
ing  his  hopeless  defeat,  voting  for  them.  They  in  turn  re- 
elected  the  former  general  officers,  including  Theodore 
Dodge  as  president. 

It  was  then  that  Theodore  did  a  very  magnanimous 
act,  for  as  one  of  the  doorkeepers,  quite  elated  with  the 
result  of  the  election,  started  to  open  the  door  to  give 
the  news  to  the  newspaper  men  outside,  Theodore  checked 
him,  and  catching  the  eye  of  the  secretary,  he  wras  given 
the  floor.  After  thanking  the  board  for  their  courtesy  in 
re-electing  him  to  his  former  position,  he  said  further 
more: 

"  Gentlemen,  I  move  that  a  signed  statement  be  given 
the  newspaper  men  waiting  outside,  to  the  following  ef 
fect:  That  the  election  of  the  board  of  directors  and  the 
general  officers  of  the  Colorado  Steel  Corporation  passed 
off  quietly.  The  old  board  of  directors  being  re-elected, 
also  the  old  list  of  general  officers.  And  from  the  fact 
that  both  Mr.  Grabbe  and  Mr.  Dodge  have  a  perfect  un 
derstanding  in  all  affairs  relative  to  the  corporation  and 
are  working  in  entire  harmony  for  its  welfare,  rests  a 
complete  refutation  of  the  sensational  reports  which  have 
been  given  circulation  in  the  press  for  the  past  few 
months." 

The  motion  was  then  seconded  and  carried,  and  the 
secretary's  stenographer  passed  the  paper  for  signatures, 
among  them,  John  Wreckor  Grabbe's.  It  was  then  hand 
ed  to  the  reporters  outside,  who  quickly  made  copies  of 
it,  then  rushed  off,  as  usual,  to  fashion  and  report  the 
affair  to  suit  themselves,  which,  in  this  instance,  they 
told  the  facts  much  better  than  the  officials  of  Colorado 
Steel  would  admit. 

When  the  Paunch  left  the  general  offices  of  the  Col 
orado  Steel  Corporation,  and  passed  into  the  street  to  his 
waiting  cab,  a  little  newsboy,  seeing  his  huge,  over-dressed 
figure,  suddenly  darted  forward,  and  thrusting  his  bundle 
of  papers  into  the  millionaire's  face,  called  out,  "  Extree 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         409 

—  extree!  All  about  the  big  steel  fight.  Colorado  de 
feats  Wall  Street.  Paper,  mister?" 

Grabbe  reached  for  a  paper,  shoved  his  hand  in  his 
pocket,  tossed  the  little  fellow  a  dollar,  and  as  the  boy 
endeavored  to  make  change,  he  heard  the  cab  door  slam, 
and  looking  up,  saw  the  vehicle  being  driven  rapidly 
away.  The  little  fellow  closed  his  hands  upon  the  dollar, 
his  eyes  opened  wide  with  wonder,  and  be  the  truth  told, 
there  was  a  very  happy  expression  on  his  little  budding 
face.  But  was  it  really  pure,  undiluted  joy,  or  was  it  the 
exulting  leer  of  the  growing  spirit  of  Avarice?  Who 
knows?  The  face  of  a  child  beams  innocence,  but  woe 
unto  him  who  gathers  or  scatters  dollars  heedlessly. 

It  is  in  this  manner  that  the  vulgar  rich  often  spread 
their  corruption.  Millions  of  humanity  thru  this  heedless 
spirit  of  the  spoilers,  pass  their  lives  as  lascivious  demons 
of  Hell  watching  and  itching  for  the  lucre  of  gold.  Mil 
lions  sitting  in  the  dark  caves  of  Mammon  as  fiercely  and 
bestial  as  lions,  watching  for  their  prey,  soliciting,  grab 
bing  up,  and  fighting  in  the  filth  of  Sin  for  the  moneyed 
offal  of  the  rich. 

Wealth  that  is  expended  beyond  the  just  price  for  serv 
ice  rendered,  or  for  the  honest  price  of  an  article,  is  a 
vile  and  insidious  corrupter;  robbing  the  unwary  recipient 
of  his  self-dependence,  his  respect,  his  honor;  and  incul 
cating  in  the  young,  the  eternal  reach  and  itch  for  lucre, 
spoil,  and  "easy  money" — the  terrible  and  fatal  idolatry 
of  Mammon. 

It  is  a  historical  fact,  that  even  upon  the  tomb  of  the 
infamous  Tiberius,  were  laid  chaplets  of  roses,  the  tribute 
of  those  fawning  sycophants  who  had  shared  his  spoil. 
And  that  spoil  what?  The  spoil  of  the  Roman  world. 

The  natural  inference  is  then,  but  not,  God  forbid,  in 
this  instance  of  the  innocent  newsboy,  that  the  bounty  of 
a  millionaire,  is  often  the  acceptance  of  spoil. 

What  spoil? 

That  spoil,  perhaps,  which  in  your  ignorance,  he  has 
wrung  from  you. 

Entering  a  Carnegie  library  is  entering  your  own  li- 


410        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

brary.  Attending  a  Rockefeller  college  is  attending  your 
own  college.  But  with  this  marked  difference — the  spoil 
er's  name  is  above  the  door — not  yours;  or  even  one  of 
the  millions  of  your  brothers  who  has  been  forced  to  pay 
tribute  to  the  maw  of  the  monster. 

Thus  Mammon  today,  as  in  the  days  of  the  Csesars,  in 
variably  worships  itself. 


CHAPTER  XII 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  positive  signed  statement  of 
the  leading  actors  in  the  drama  of  Colorado  Steel  con 
cerning  the  harmony  of  the  election,  the  local  newspapers 
treated  it  as  a  great  victory  for  Colorado  and  Theodore 
Dodge.  Scores  of  congratulatory  telegrams  were  received 
by  the  president  of  Colorado  Steel,  and  he  suddenly  found 
himself  a  figure  of  national  repute,  his  praises  being  sung 
with  equal  gusto  in  Chicago  and  New  York,  as  well  as 
in  Denver  and  Salt  Lake  City.  He  was  given  full  credit 
for  having  taken  the  measure  of  the  Paunch.  The  days 
of  the  notorious,  "Bet-you-a-million,"  drummer  in  Col 
orado  Steel  were  over.  The  Colorado  line  had  held,  and 
the  steel  magnates  of  the  nation  would  have  to  wait  at 
least  another  year  before  they  could  annex  this  remaining 
bit  of  Western  enterprise. 

At  ten  o'clock  on  the  evening  immediately  following 
the  election,  the  private  car  of  John  Wreckor  Grabbe 
passed  out  of  the  Union  Depot  at  Denver,  bound  for  Chi 
cago.  It  was  attached  to  the  regular  Burlington  No.  2, 
and  the  next  day  at  Lincoln,  the  Nebraska  Capital,  which 
the  special  train  of  the  Paunch  had  scorned  so  contemptu 
ously  on  the  outward  trip,  Grabbe  was  handed  a  telegram 
from  his  New  York  broker,  to  the  effect  that  Colorado 
Steel  had  fallen  ten  points.  The  next  morning  in  Chi 
cago,  Grabbe  looked  at  the  stock  reports  —  Colorado  Steel 
was  still  falling.  When  he  reached  Pittsburg,  another 
telegram  from  his  brokers  announced  that  it  had  dropped 
several  points  more;  and  when  the  millionaire  finally 
reached  New  York,  his  once  precious  stock  was  being 
slaughtered  unmercifully,  the  inflation  being  completely 
squeezed  out  of  it.  Thoroly  disgusted  with  the  whole  deal, 
he  instructed  his  brokers  to  sell  out  at  any  price,  and 
taking  the  first  boat  for  Southampton,  the  Paunch  de- 


411 


412        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

voted  three  months  to  foreign  travel,  returning  to  the 
States  in  a  much  better  humor,  but  to  this  day,  his  fol 
lowers  never  allude  to  Colorado  Steel  in  his  presence. 

John  Wreckor  Grabbe,  the  most  vulgar  millionaire  in 
the  United  States,  like  several  of  his  kind,  has  attained 
a  lurid  notoriety  —  fame  he  never  can  attain. 

Notoriety  is  drifting  sand. 

Fame,  alone,  is  the  mountain. 

The  Swiss  never  point  to  their  money,  but  to  their 
Alps. 

Fame  endures.    Notoriety  fades. 

Fame  cannot  be  coaxed,  persuaded,  or  corrupted.  It 
is  an  honor  which  seeks  of  its  own  free  will,  the  deserving 
individual.  Notoriety  can  readily  be  bought  by  the  vilest 
courtesan. 

Fame  is  a  legitimist. 

Notoriety  is  a  fakir. 

John  Wreckor  Grabbe  has  subscribed  to  several  so- 
called  philanthropies.  Among  them,  a  school  for  boys. 

Mockery!  The  most  hardened  gambler  in  existence 
may  give  a  dollar  in  the  name  of  philanthropy  to  the 
son  of  the  man  he  has  robbed,  and  receive  a  smile.  Worse 
—  weak,  starving  man  with  other  mouths  to  feed,  will 
sometimes  fall  down  and  worship  the  hand  that  gives, 
even  tho  he  knows  that  same  hand  has  robbed  him  in  the 
guise  of  business.  The  ethics  of  Starvation  is  —  Eat. 

Bah!  Philanthropy  with  men  like  John  Wreckor 
Grabbe,  is  a  mere  pastime.  Just  a  part  of  the  game  of 
lucre.  Other  millionaires  subscribe  to  philanthropy,  so 
must  he.  It  is  merely  one  of  the  luxuries  of  the  rich. 

As  with  that  monstrous  paradox,  John  D.  Rockefeller, 
who  apparently  displays  a  sublime  generosity  in  his  ed 
ucational  efforts,  and  at  the  same  time  appears  to  exer 
cise  the  cold  cruelty  of  a  devil-fish  upon  the  unhappy  vic 
tims  who  stand  in  the  way  of  his  business  enterprises, 
John  Wreckor  Grabbe  wrings  dimes  from  his  victims 
for  every  penny  he  tosses  into  the  street  in  the  name  of 
philanthropy. 

But  John  Wreckor  Grabbe  is  merely  the  patent  medi- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        413 

cine  generation  behind  John  D.  Rockefeller;  and  fortu 
nately,  too,  the  fair  name  of  Christianity  is  not  involved 
in  his  case,  as  it  is  in  the  case  of  the  oil  king. 

How  strange  it  is  that  our  richest  man  lays  claim  to 
the  faith  and  doctrines  of  Him  who  said,  "that  the  foxes 
have  holes,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests,  but  the 
Son  of  Man  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head." 

Oh!  Master,  divine,  explain  this  marvel  to  Thy  chil 
dren,  or  else  command  them  in  the  light  of  truth  to  rise 
up  and  condemn  it. 

Ohl  John  D.  Rockefeller,  how  will  you  face  intrepid 
St.  Peter? 

A  hard-shelled  Baptist,  dealing  beggary  to  those  who 
do  not  accept  his  rule. 

A  man  proclaiming  himself  to  be  a  God-fearing,  Chris 
tian,  boldly  requesting  members  of  the  United  States 
Senate  thru  the  medium  of  a  pernicious  lobby,  to  ignore 
their  constituents,  and  vote  in  the  interests  of  an  in 
famous  corporation. 

This  leprous  politician  voting  a  herd  of  innocent  Ital 
ians  in  furthering  his  vast  land  acquisitions;  Instructing 
them  not  only  to  vote  as  he  desires,  but  furnishing  them 
with  marked  sample  ballots  that  they  might  make  no 
mistake.  Ah!  Citizens  of  the  Great  Republic,  this  1903 
election  of  North  Tarrytown  is  an  incident  to  ponder  over. 
Epochs  have  begun  with  incidents  less  important  than  this. 
Plutocracy  is  lifting  its  head  dangerously.  But  there  is 
still  faith  as  an  anchor  to  windward. 

The  United  States  is  experiencing  a  reign  of  insidious 
corrupting  Rockefellerism,  quite  similar  to  Florence,  with 
her  Medicis ;  but  fear  not,  good  citizens,  these  Rockefeller 
creatures  will  pass  into  the  yawning  Egyptian  night  and 
the  great  stars  will  still  shine  serenely  on. 

The  history  of  Florence  will  never  be  repeated  in  this 
country.  But  it  was  written  for  the  benefit  of  future  gen 
erations — our  generation.  The  people  of  that  age  lived 
and  died  in  martyrdom  for  us.  Three  hundred  years  of 
blood,  gold,  and  steel;  fire,  faggot,  and  poison,  subscribe 
themselves  to  our  understanding  , 


414        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

The  history  of  unhappy  Florence  was  decreed  by  the 
great  God  of  the  universe  to  be  done  up  in  a  book,  that 
every  American  schoolboy  might  read  and  be  wise. 

Imagine  a  .Standard  Oil  Pope ! 

A  billionaire  Peter  1 1 

A  copper  Christ!!! 

Bah!  This  base  Rockefeller  strata  of  our  social  and 
religious  edifice  is  a  mere  deposit  of  chalk,  which  future 
ages  of  men  will  exhume  to  crayon  paeans  of  joy,  that 
man  has  forgotten  lucre  and  has  espoused  spirit. 

Rockefeller  Christianity  is  Beelzebub  parading  in  the 
garb  of  Business.  Business  is  the  war  of  dollars,  and 
war  is  hell. 

Men  have  undertaken  great  tasks  in  various  epochs 
of  the  world's  history,  but  none  have  ever  faced  a  greater 
one  or  been  more  cruelly  handicapped  by  the  errors  and 
weaknesses  of  a  misguided  parent,  than  the  younger 
Rockefeller,  in  explaining  to  his  Sunday-school,  the  tenets 
of  this  false  Rockefelleran  Christianity^  This  treading  the 
prostrate  forms  of  despairing  humanity  from  sheer  cor 
pulence  of  enormous  acquisition,  and  yet  aspiring  to 
sainthood  as  a  philanthropist. 

A  colossus  treading  the  earth,  so  lost  in  the  affairs  of 
his  kingdom  that  he  knows  not  upon  what  ne  is  stepping. 
A  giant,  stumbling  thru  a  forest  in  the  night,  ruthlessly 
and  ignorantly  tramping  down  ant-hills  and  spider-webs 
of  humanity.  A  vast  and  unnatural  MAGNIFICATION. 
A  monstrosity  grown  so  great  in  the  web  of  his  creations, 
that  the  prayers  and  entreaties  of  his  creatures  do  not 
reach  him.  A  tower  of  Babel,  its  head  lost  in  the  clouds 
and  unseen  of  those  suffering  calamity  at  its  feet.  When 
a  man  has  grown  so  great  and  far  removed  from  his  fel 
lows,  that  he  becomes  syndicated  and  corporationed ;  that 
man  has  lost  his  species,  his  manhood,  becoming  a  terrify 
ing  hybrid  over  which  the  grave  will  close  in  eloquent  and 
fearsome  silence. 

Around  Rockefeller,  the  elder,  the  world  should  draw 
the  curtain  of  simple  charity;  but  let  us  sit  down  with 
the  younger  in  the  shadow  of  his  mountain  and  bid  him 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        415 

cheer.  There  is  no  more  appalling  spectacle  in  Tiuman 
events,  than  beholding  the  feeble  struggles  of  an  innocent 
infant  enmeshed  in  the  fatal  toils  of  an  unnatural  father. 

If  it  were  not  that  Rockefeller,  the  younger,  had  just 
claim  to  the  sympathy  and  goodwill  of  the  American  peo 
ple  in  the  stewardship  of  his  inherited  millions,  they 
might  with  good  reason,  in  this  matter  of  the  Sunday- 
school,  declare  him  the  billionaire  Roscius. 

It  was  St.  John  the  Divine  who  bade  us  beware  of  the 
mark  of  the  Beast,  and  the  mark  of  the  Beast  today,  is 
the  gold  of  the  Beast  in  the  hands  of  its  slaves. 

How  much  more  then  is  he  to  be  feared  and  rebuked, 
who,  professing  in  the  broad  light  of  day  the  sacred  doc 
trines  of  Jesus  Christ — the  poorest  and  most  unselfish 
man  of  history  —  yet  at  night  retires  to  his  caves  of  spoil 
to  gloat  amid  his  glut  of  gold? 

As  a  mere  man,  the  elder  Rockefeller  would  only  be 
a  pagan,  a  modern  Croasus,  moving  to  compassion  phil 
osophers  and  sages ;  but  as  one  professing  Christianity,  his 
practice  is, one  of  most  despicable  hypocrisy.  If  his  ex 
ample  is  followed  by  the  church  at  large,  it  will  mark  its 
decline  and  fall. 

Rockefellerism  is  modern  ANTICHRIST!!! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Several  weeks  after  the  ignominious  flight  of  John 
Wreckor  Grabbe  from  Colorado,  an  event  occurred  which 
set  the  mountain  metropolis  all  agog.  It  was  the  in 
augural  of  the  newly-elected  Governor,  James  H.  Pea- 
body. 

After  having  been  hopelessly  defeated  for  the  past 
eight  years,  the  Republican  party  had  succeeded  in  once 
more  electing  a  governor. 

E.  A.  Wolcott,  the  Republican  bar'l  man  of  the  cam 
paign,  had  told  his  friends  after  the  successful  election  in 
November,  that  when  the  new  governor  was  inaugurated 
the  thirteenth  of  January,  1903,  the  G.  0.  P.  would 
"make  Rome  howl."  And  now  that  the  auspicious  oc 
casion  was  really  here,  the  sturdy  bar'l  man  was  certainly 
making  good. 

The  city  was  gaily  decorated.  From  Fort  Logan, 
the  United  States  military  post  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  came  a  troop  of  the  Fourteenth  Cavalry  and  several 
companies  of  the  Eighteenth  Infantry,  escorting  the 
commander  of  the  Department  of  the  Colorado,  General 
Frederick  Funston,  and  his  brilliant  staff.  The  doughty 
Kansan,  hero  of  Calumpit,  and  capturer  of  Aguinaldo, 
was  resplendent  in  gold-braid,  and  looked  every  inch  a 
soldier  as  he  headed  the  brave  column  of  troops  which 
had  fought  at  San  Juan  and  Manila,  and  had  also  as 
sisted  at  the  storming  of  Pekin. 

Following  these  veterans  were  companies  of  the  State 
Militia;  trim  and  natty  cadets  from  the  Agricultural  Col 
lege  at  Fort  Collins,  a  battery  of  light  artillery,  several 
brass  bands  and  drum  corps;  a  large  procession  of  car 
riages,  and  numerous  columns  of  brilliantly-uniformed 
fraternal  bodies.  At  the  head  of  the  civic  and  legislative 
bodies,  was  a  handsome  carriage,  drawn  by  four  beauti- 

417 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Several  weeks  after  the  ignominious  flight  of  John 
Wreckor  Grabbe  from  Colorado,  an  event  occurred  which 
set  the  mountain  metropolis  all  agog.  It  was  the  in 
augural  of  the  newly-elected  Governor,  James  H.  Pea- 
body. 

After  having  been  hopelessly  defeated  for  the  past 
eight  years,  the  Republican  party  had  succeeded  in  once 
more  electing  a  governor. 

E.  A.  Wolcott,  the  Republican  bar'l  man  of  the  cam 
paign,  had  told  his  friends  after  the  successful  election  in 
November,  that  when  the  new  governor  was  inaugurated 
the  thirteenth  of  January,  1903,  the  G.  0.  P.  would 
"make  Rome  howl."  And  now  that  the  auspicious  oc 
casion  was  really  here,  the  sturdy  bar'l  man  was  certainly 
making  good. 

The  city"  was  gaily  decorated.  From  Fort  Logan, 
the  United  States  military  post  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  came  a  troop  of  the  Fourteenth  Cavalry  and  several 
companies  of  the  Eighteenth  Infantry,  escorting  the 
commander  of  the  Department  of  the  Colorado,  General 
Frederick  Funston,  and  his  brilliant  staff.  The  doughty 
Kansan,  hero  of  Calumpit,  and  capturer  of  Aguinaldo, 
was  resplendent  in  gold-braid,  and  looked  every  inch  a 
soldier  as  he  headed  the  brave  column  of  troops  which 
had  fought  at  San  Juan  and  Manila,  and  had  also  as 
sisted  at  the  storming  of  Pekin. 

Following  these  veterans  were  companies  of  the  State 
Militia;  trim  and  natty  cadets  from  the  Agricultural  Col 
lege  at  Fort  Collins,  a  battery  of  light  artillery,  several 
brass  bands  and  drum  corps;  a  large  procession  of  car 
riages,  and  numerous  columns  of  brilliantly-uniformed 
fraternal  bodies.  At  the  head  of  the  civic  and  legislative 
bodies,  was  a  handsome  carriage,  drawn  by  four  beauti- 

417 


418         THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

ful  white  horses,  which  contained  both  the  incoming  and 
outgoing  governors. 

After  the  parade,  the  usual  ceremonies,  the  speech- 
making,  oath-taking,  and  inaugural  address,  were  duly 
performed  on  the  capitol  steps  by  the  new  governor  and 
his  associates;  and  society  prepared  itself  for  the  great 
ball,  which  was  to  be  held  in  the  capitol  building  that 
same  evening.  For  days  the  committee  in  charge  had 
been  busily  decorating  the  interior  of  that  vast  pile  of 
Gunnison  granite,  which  cost  the  State  of  Colorado  mil 
lions  of  dollars,  and  which  towers  majestically  from  the 
summit  of  a  handsome  hill,  rising  in  graceful  slopes 
above  the  valley  of  the  Cherry. 

Tonight's  function  was  to  be  all  the  more  notable  as 
it  was  the  house-warming  of  the  new  capitol,  recently 
completed,  and  the  people  of  the  state  were  eager  to  in 
spect  it.  Thousands  of  invitations  had  been  issued.  Party 
lines  had  been  completely  ignored.  Democrats,  Populists, 
Socialists,  and  other  party  followers  were  as  eager  to  at 
tend  as  were  the  jubilant  Republicans.  The  weather  was 
perfect.  The  stars  shone  brightly  in  the  pure,  clean 
atmosphere  of  a  mile  above  sea-level;  in  the  misty  East 
the  moon  rose  bright  and  full,  shedding  its  mellow  lustre 
over  the  Great  Plains ;  and  its  glittering  beams  were  softly 
reflected  from  the  summits  of  the  Snowy  Range  towering 
ghostly  in  the  West. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  electrician  turned  on  the  myriads 
of  lights  which  illuminated  the  exterior  of  the  capitol, 
and  the  great  dome  suddenly  sprang  into  exquisite  fire 
lines  of  the  national  colors,  red,  white,  and  blue;  while 
the  outlines  of  the  massive  main  structure  shone  far  be 
low  in  continuous  rows  of  brilliant  incandescents.  The 
great  building  from  its  commanding  eminence  was  visible 
for  many  miles,  and  was  illuminated  that  the  good  citizens 
of  Denver  and  the  suburbs  might  know  the  ball  was  on. 

By  8:30  the  guests  were  arriving  in  throngs,  and 
scores  of  carriages  and  motors  were  discharging  their 
splendidly-gowned  occupants  at  the  Grant  Avenue  en 
trance.  Many  of  the  elite  of  the  state  were  on  the  recep- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        419 

tion  committee,  and  by  nine  o'clock  the  brilliantly-lighted 
interior  of  the  capitol  was  filled  to  overflowing  with  beau 
tiful,  tastefully-gowned  women  and  well-groomed  men. 

In  the  rotunda,  at  the  head  of  the  magnificent  bronze 
arid  marble  grand  staircase,  was  a  huge  portrait  of  Presi 
dent  Roosevelt,  gracefully  draped  with  bright  folds  of 
the  national  colors,  the  strenuous  Teddy  having  made 
himself  quite  popular  in  Colorado  of  late  thru  his  vigor 
ous  efforts  in  behalf  of  irrigation,  which  is  a  pet  subject 
with  the  people  of  the  Inter-mountain  region. 

An  orchestra  played  in  the  great  hall  where  the  gov 
ernor  and  his  wife  held  their  reception,  and  several  bands 
discoursed  dance  and  promenade  music  for  the  thousands 
who  thronged  the  corridors. 

Our  reportorial  friend,  Phoebe  Prim,  was  there,  dressed 
tastefully  for  the  occasion;  her  brilliant  turquoise  eyes 
fairly  dancing  as  she  jotted  down  interesting  notes  for 
publication  in  the  morrow's  "  Press."  Many  of  her  squibs 
would  be  without  meaning  to  readers  of  the  "  Press"  in 
general,  but  to  the  parties  for  whom  intended,  the  mysteri 
ous  lines  would  be  ripe  with  the  humor  of  some  interest 
ing  event  known  only  to  them,  Phoebe,  and  a  select  few. 
Several  ex-governors,  senators,  and  political  leaders  would 
chuckle  to  themselves  and  tug  their  beards  meaningly 
when  they  read  the  sly  insinuating  articles;  and  the 
Capitol  Hill  grand  dames  and  buds  would  look  eagerly 
for  Phoebe's  gossipy  notes  on  dress  and  other  personalities. 

The  Republican  bar'l  man,  ex-Senator  Wolcott,  was 
making  good  use  of  the  occasion  in  whipping  into  line 
certain  recalcitrant  members  of  the  legislature  to  his  sup 
port  in  the  coming  senatorial  contest,  in  which  he  hoped 
to  again  be  returned  to  the  United  States  senate.  He  was 
a  noble  fellow,  an  indomitable  fighter,  and  he  had  fur 
nished  most  of  the  funds  to  carry  on  the  recent  campaign. 
He  was  doomed  to  defeat,  however,  having  incurred  the 
unrelenting  hostility  of  united  Democracy,  the  old  silver 
Republicans;  and  also  hopelessly  alienated  the  affections 
of  a  considerable  number  of  the  Republicans  themselves. 
He  had  done  much  for  Colorado  in  the  early  history 


420        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

of  the  state,  but  his  record  on  the  silver  question  had 
been  bitterly  attacked,  and  somehow  during  the  years 
of  Colorado's  loyal,  almost  fanatical  fight  for  silver,  his 
staunch  Republicanism  had  been  misinterpreted,  he  was 
looked  upon  as  a  menace  to  the  popular  cause,  and  he 
had  fallen  under  the  ban  of  the  people's  displeasure. 

The  members  of  the  legislature  attended  the  ball  en- 
masse. 

Interesting  fellows,  these  Colorado  solons.  Some  of  them 
tall  mountaineers,  smoking  cigars  almost  in  proportion. 
Many  of  them  wore  full  beards,  some  of  them  tipped  with 
hair  as  white  as  the  snows  of  the  peaks  which  shut  in  the 
districts  these  fellows  represented.  Here  were  prosperous 
farmers  from  the  agricultural  districts  of  the  Western 
Slope,  and  smart,  dandified  members  from  the  Cripple 
Creek  and  Leadville  districts,  wearing  huge  specimens  of 
native  gold,  mounted  on  pins  and  thrust  jauntily  in  their 
cravats. 

Very  interesting,  too,  were  the  members  from  the 
Spanish  counties  on  the  New  Mexican  line.  They  were 
actually  called  "the  Spaniards"  by  their  fellow  solons; 
Sefior  Celestino  Garcia,  if  you  please,  and  Sancho  Al- 
phonso  Barecia.  As  they  pulled  their  long,  grizzled  mus- 
tachios,  one  naturally  recalled  the  famous  gold-seeking 
Coronado,  who,  in  company  with  his  companions,  were 
perhaps  the  first  white  men  who  ever  visited  Colorado; 
and  the  bones  of  many  of  whom  are  buried  somewhere  in 
the  remorseless  red  deserts  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico. 
Tho  having  lost  their  lives  in  the  mad  search  for  gold, 
yet  many  of  their  names  are  preserved  in  the  land  which 
holds  their  dust. 

Many  cattlemen  from  the  north  tier  of  counties  on  the 
Wyoming  line  were  here.  Withy,  sunburned,  with  legs 
cruelly  bowed  from  years  of  bending  under  the  mustang's 
belly;  and  whose  cattle  still  grc,ze  upon  the  rich  pastures 
pf  North  Park  and  the  wind-swept  ranges  of  the  Medicine 
Bow. 

Several  of  the  members  of  the  Great  Plains  counties  in 
Eastern  Colorado  made  up  an  unsophisticated,  rusty, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        421 

frowsy-looking  bunch.  Brown,  human  prairie-dogs,  with 
tiny  blinking  owl  eyes  and  shambling  awkward  gait; 
their  whole  physiognomy  and  attitude,  readily  depicting 
their  bleak  and  lonely  life  submerged  in  the  fearful  dust 
storms  of  the  cow  range  which  blow  so  pitilessly  upon 
their  unprotected  sod  houses  and  dugouts  sunk  deep  in 
the  tawny  wastes  of  the  arid  and  unwatered  landscape. 
Government  irrigation  is  soon  to  reach  out  to  them,  and 
the  sons  of  these  same  rusty  plainsmen  will  some  day 
probably  vie  with  the  more  prosperous  members  from 
the  irrigated  districts. 

Sleek,  well-dressed  city  members  from  Colorado  Springs, 
Pueblo,  and  the  capital  city  of  Denver,  were  also  here, 
scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from  the  stylishly-dressed 
"down-easters"  from  Chicago  and  Gotham,  who  were 
curious  observers  from  the  neighboring  hotels. 

Both  members  of  the  national  senate  from  Colorado 
were  in  attendance.  One,  the  venerable  white-bearded 
senior,  who  was  smiling  affably  to  the  hundreds  who 
swarmed  about  him,  wishing  him  success  in  the  coming 
senatorial  "contest  from  which  he  was  destined  to  emerge 
a  victor.  The  other,  the  earnest-visaged  junior,  who  was 
working  like  a  beaver  among  the  members  of  the  legis 
lature  in  the  interests  of  his  colleague. 

John  Charles  Rose,  tho  almost  completely  ostracized  by 
the  brilliant  throng,  was  also  in  attendance  to  present 
his  congratulations  to  the  new  governor.  He  was  much 
occupied  these  days  in  fighting  a  measure  known  as  "the 
Rush  bill,"  which  had  been  adopted  by  the  people  at  the 
previous  election  in  November.  He  had  declared  it  an 
obnoxious  measure  to  the  great  corporations  which  he 
represented,  and  had  proceeded  to  attack  the  measure  in 
the  state  courts.  The  press  was  loud  in  his  denunciation, 
but  with  characteristic  indifference  he  had  fought  the 
popular  measure  boldly  and  unscrupulously,  believing 
that  every  move  he  made  in  the  affair  would  strengthen 
him  in  the  eyes  of  the  corporations  he  served. 

Among  the  bevy  of  charming  women  who  surrounded 
the  gubernatorial  party  was  Mrs.  Theodore  Dodge.  She 


422        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

and  the  Governor's  wife  were  old  friends,  and  Mollie 
was  very  happy  in  Mrs.  Peabody's  newly  acquired  honor 
as  the  first  lady  of  the  state.  As  she  and  her  friends 
were  chatting  gayly  under  a  great  chandelier  draped  with 
smilax  and  roses,  Mollie  saw  approaching  the  Governor, 
Standish  Brown  and  his  tiny  Italian  wife,  Fiorina. 

Standish  was  attired  in  a  full  dress  suit,  and  as  he  was 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  Republican  party  in  Denver, 
Mollie  could  see  the  Governor  waiting  impatiently  to 
grasp  his  hand.  Fiorina's  gown  was  a  handsome  creation 
of  white  satin  and  lace,  over  which  was  thrown  an  opera 
coat  of  bright  scarlet  trimmed  with  ermine.  One  beauti 
ful  American  beauty  was  thrust  into  the  depths  of  her 
shining  dark  hair;  and  her  eyes  brightly  radiant  at  the 
sight  of  the  gay  throng  about  her,  rested  fondly  upon  her 
husband  from  time  to  time,  and  she  clasped  his  arm 
closely  as  if  she  were  half  afraid. 

The  Browns  had  long  been  looked  upon  with  great 
curiosity  by  the  smart  set  on  the  Hill.  They  had  never 
attended  any  of  the  numerous  social  functions  to  which 
they  had  been  invited,  neither  had  they  troubled  them 
selves  to  send  their  regrets.  Therefore  they  had  been 
declared  barbarous  and  uncivilized  by  Hill  society,  yet 
this  same  brutal  impolite  reserve  had  only  accentuated 
the  curiosity  of  the  Hill  crowd;  especially  as  Standish 
had  been  seen  very  much  of  late  in  the  company  of  David 
Moore,  the  burgomaster  of  Colorado  finance;  and  also 
from  the  additional  fact,  that  certain  newspapers  had 
lately  declared  that  Brown  had  saved  the  day  in  Colorado 
Steel.  These  and  other  minor  incidents  had  given  the 
Browns  a  certain  prestige  in  Denver,  almost  powerful 
enough  to  overcome  to  a  degree  that  ridicule  and  dis 
paraging  comment  which  most  of  the  Hill  folks  believed 
just  and  proper. 

Ever  since  the  battle  of  Colorado  Steel,  Mrs.  Dodge 
had  watched  for  a  chance  to  meet  the  Browns.  Theodore 
had  questioned  his  wife  very  closely  as  to  the  secret  of 
the  loyal  support  of  Brown  in  the  steel  fight,  but  without 
eliciting  any  further  information,  than  that  a  certain 


THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE         423 

party  had  told  her  of  Brown's  expected  assistance.  She 
never  mentioned  her  former  sweetheart  relations  with 
Standish,  and  Theodore  remained  ignorant  of  such  an 
influence.  He  could  scarcely  reconcile  her  statements, 
but  such  was  his  joy  and  extreme  good  nature  in  the  flush 
of  victory,  that  the  question  was  soon  dismissed  from  his 
mind. 

As  the  Browns  drew  nearer  the  gubernatorial  party, 
bringing  up  the  rear  of  a  long  line  of  homage  payers, 
Mollie  excused  herself  from  the  ladies  and  sought  her 
husband  in  one  of  the  nearby  rooms  assigned  to  the  gen 
tlemen  for  smoking.  She  found  him  chatting  with  a 
party  of  Republican  braves,  and  plucking  him  by  the 
arm,  she  drew  him  from  the  smoke  blowing  council  and 
informed  him  of  the  near  presence  of  the  Standish 
Browns.  As  privileged  guests  they  had  no  difficulty  in 
getting  near  the  Governor  and  his  wife,  and  Theodore 
managed  to  whisper  his  desire  for  an  introduction  in 
the  Governor's  ear. 

The  Browns  were  almost  the  last  persons  to  pay  their 
respects  to  the  Governor  and  his  wife,  the  great  throng 
which  had  arrived  earlier  in  the  evening  having  done 
those  honors,  and  were  now  in  the  main  corridors  either 
whirling  in  the  mazes  of  the  dance,  looking  on  in  absorbed 
interest  at  the  brilliant  company  and  reveling  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  enchanting  music,  or  had  descended 
to  the  basement  where  refreshments  were  being  served. 

As  Standish  extended  his  hand,  the  Governor  and  his 
wife,  followed  by  Theodore,  stepped  down  from  the 
slightly  raised  reception  stand,  and  grasping  the  tall 
mine  owner's  hand  heartily,  the  Governor  said  quite 
informally : 

"Standish,  I  am  more  than  delighted  at  this  visit — 
and  how  is  this  little  Dago  wife  of  yours?"  he  added, 
glancing  down  merrily  at  Fiorina.  The  Browns  and  the 
Peabodys  had  known  each  other  for  a  long  time,  and 
Jim  Peabody  was  one  of  the  few  men  in  whom  the  timid 
Fiorina  condescended  to  be  interested. 

"Ah!     Meester  Peabody!"  she  exclaimed,  "Zee  new 


424        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Gofenor  of  Colorado.  I  'gratulate  you.  Oh!  Zee  beeg 
noise  'bout  you  today.  It  wake  my  leettle  Petro  out  of 
zee  nap,"  she  continued,  gesticulating  rapidly  in  her 
quick  impetuous  manner,  as  she  referred  to  the  salutes 
to  the  Governor  fired  by  the  light  artillery  from  the 
capitol  campus  late  that  forenoon;  then  observing  Mrs. 
Peabody  she  stepped  forward  and  was  soon  engaged  in  an 
animated  conversation  during  which  she  was  introduced 
to  Mrs.  Theodore  Dodge. 

"Standish,"  said  the  Governor,  "I  have  a  friend  here 
whom  I  would  like  to  have  you  meet."  And  as  Theodore 
stepped  forward,  the  Governor  added,  "Mr.  Brown,  Mr. 
Dodge.  Mr.  Dodge,  Mr.  Brown." 

Standish  drew  himself  up  rather  stiffly  and  gazed 
almost  questioningly,  first  into  the  smiling  face  of  Jim 
Peabody  and  then  into  the  refined,  serious  countenance 
of  Theodore  Dodge.  Then  he  slowly  extended  his  hand 
which  Theodore  grasped  warmly,  almost  enthusiastically. 

"Mr.  Dodge,"  said  Standish,  "I  am  pleased  to  meet 
you."  At  which  the  Governor,  delighted  that  there  was 
no  gun  play,  turned  gayly  toward  the  ladies,  but  seeing 
them  quite  happily  engaged,  he  sought  the  nearby  smok 
ing  room  for  a  quiet  pull  at  the  fragrant  weed  and  a  chat 
among  the  Republican  stalwarts. 

After  a  commonplace  exchange  of  remarks  between 
Standish  and  Theodore,  the  President  of  Colorado  Steel 
said  earnestly: 

"Mr.  Brown,  I  don't  know  how  I  can  ever  repay  you 
for  your  magnanimous  action  in  the  Steel  fight  last 
December.  And  I  am  free  to  confess  to  you,  that  it  was 
your  timely  support  that  saved  me  from  a  crushing- 
defeat.  It  has  always  been  a  mystery  to  me  as  to  how 
you  could  have  acted  so  generously  toward  me,  a  man 
Avho  has,  unfortunately,  been  on  the  opposite  side  of  many 
of  your  affairs  in  Colorado.  By  Jove,  Brown,  as  I  think 
about  it,  it  was  downright  noble  of  you.  Believe  me,  I 
shall  never  forget  it,  and  it  will  be  my  constant  endeavor 
as  the  years  roll  by  to  treat  you  as  royally  as  you  did  me." 

Standish  looked  calmly  down  into  the  magnetic  brown 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        425 

eyes  of  the  dapper,  neatly  dressed,  but  serious  voiced 
speaker,  and  tho  he  did  not  feel  much  like  talking  upon 
the  subject,  the  encounter  having  come  upon  him  so 
suddenly,  yet  he  managed  to  reply  graciously : 

"I'm  glad  you  feel  warmly  toward  me,  Mr.  Dodge.  I 
sincerely  hope  my  purpose  was  high  in  assisting  you  in 
Colorado  Steel,  and  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  retain 
control  of  the  corporation,  and  that  our  steel  industry  has 
not  yet  gone  the  way  of  our  smelters,  into  the  control  of 
Eastern  capital." 

After  a  short  pause,  Standish  spoke  again. 

"  I  have  added  considerably  to  my  holdings  in  Colorado 
Steel  since  Grabbe  went  East,  taking  advantage  of  the 
heavy  slump,  and  enough  I  think,  Mr.  Dodge,  to  entitle 
me  to  a  place  on  the  board  of  directors.  If  you  ever  see 
your  way  clear  to  afford  me  this  I  will  greatly  appreciate 
the  favor.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Dodge,  I  get  more  inter 
ested  in  local  affairs  every  day,  and  it  has  always  seemed 
to  me  that  if  a  few  of  us  got  together,  we  could  do  much 
for  the  old  Silver  State  as  well  as  taking  care  of  our 
Eastern  friends  in  good  shape.  I  confess  I've  been  slow 
to  learn  it,  but  it  certainly  does  broaden  a  man  to  be  a 
good  mixer.  It  makes  the  world  small  and  the  race  big." 

"  You  shall  certainly  have  that  directorship  at  the  next 
election,  Mr.  Brown,"  replied  Theodore  with  characteris 
tic  promptness,  "Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure, 
and  also  it  is  interesting  to  learn  your  opinions  upon  the 
possibilities  of  the  growth  of  our  Colorado  enterprises. 
My  recent  experience  in  Colorado  Steel  has  convinced 
me  that  it  is  useless  to  buck  Eastern  capital,  and  hence 
forth  I  shall  extend  the  glad  hand  to  every  one.  As  you 
have  just  intimated,  the  mutual  interests  of  humanity 
the  world  over,  are  too  important  for  any  one  to  shut  the 
door  in  his  neighbor's  face.  "Won't  you  come  over  and 
have  a  smoke?"  he  added  cordially. 

"  No,  thanks,  Dodge,  I  don't  smoke,"  Standish  replied. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Dodge  came  over  to  them. 

"  Ah !  Mr.  Brown,  my  wife "  said  Theodore,  start 
ing  to  introduce  them. 


426        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

"No — no,  Theo,"  she  interrupted,  "Mr.  Brown  and  I 
are  old  friends."  And  just  touching  with  her  daintily 
gloved  fingers  Standish's  extended  hand,  she  bowed  low. 
As  she  did  so,  Theodore  felt  intuitively,  that  his  jewel 
of  a  wife  had  trifled  with  him  a  little,  in  withholding 
from  him  the  secret  of  Standish  Brown's  support  of  him 
in  Colorado  Steel, 


BOOK    FOUR 

THE  LINE  OF  THE  ROCKIES 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  circumstances  thru  which  Standish  Brown  first 
met  David  Moore  were  rather  peculiar.  For  altho 
Standish  had  long  been  interested  in  National  First 
both  as  a  stockholder  and  a  heavy  depositor,  yet  he  had 
never  met  its  famous  president  until  1902.  With  plain 
Horace  Nichols,  the  brusque,  blunt-spoken  cashier,  he  had 
long  enjoyed  an  intimate  acquaintance,  but  he  had  never 
up  to  the  above  stated  time  penetrated  the  secluded  private 
office  of  Colorado's  greatest  financier. 

When  David  Moore  affixed  his  signature  to  the  deed 
whereby  the  ownership  of  several  lots  in  the  Mountain 
View  addition  to  Capitol  Hill  were  formally  transferred 
to  the  tall  mine-owner,  he  chuckled  good-humoredly  to 
himself,  and  prepared  to  sit  a  couple  of  hours  each  day 
in  the  cozy  sun-parlor  which  overlooked  the  tract. 

This  sun-parlor  was  David's  chief  delight.  It  was  built 
of  plate-glass  and  bronze,  and  immediately  adjoined  the 
rambling  brick  house  of  the  banker  which  was  built  half 
way  up  the  brow  of  Capitol  Hill,  commanding  a  partial 
view  of  the  mountains.  Stepping  into  the  sun-parlor 
from  the  library,  the  songs  of  tuneful  canaries  greeted 
one's  ears  coming  from  several  bright  gilt  cages  suspended 
from  the  glass  roof,  and  which  were  half  hidden  by  the 
green  foliage  of  several  immense  palms  and  ferns  growing 
luxuriously  in  rare  vases  and  jardineres.  In  the  center 
of  the  retreat  a  fountain  played  in  a  neat  divan  furnished 
court.  Its  sparkling  blue  jet  spurting  some  three  or  four 
feet  into  the  air  and  falling  with  a  soft  musical  murmur 


427 


428         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

into  a  large  marble  basin,  in  which  a  dozen  or  more  gold 
fish  flitted  and  nosed  among  several  diminutive  artificial 
caverns  and  burnt  clay  models  of  antique  German  castles 
tucked  away  among  quantities  of  aquatic  plants  and 
mossy  stones. 

On  one  side  of  this  court  shaded  by  a  huge  palm  and 
facing  the  fountain,  was  a  handsome  Italian  marble  bust 
of  Sappho,  placed  upon  a  highly  polished  pedestal  of 
ebony  trimmed  with  gold.  The  fair  Greek  was  glancing 
downward  at  the  play  of  the  fountain,  as  if  musing  at 
its  joyous  cadence.  Upon  the  broad  window  ledges  of 
this  frost-defying  bower  were  numerous  pots  of  blooming 
flowers;  carnations,  lilies,  tulips,  geraniums,  roses,  hya 
cinths,  etc.  The  retreat  was  paved  with  soft  yellow  tiles, 
with  rare  oriental  rugs  spread  before  the  numerous  wicker 
rockers  and  divans  with  which  the  place  was  furnished. 

Upon  the  wall  of  the  house  side  of  the  sun-parlor  hung 
two  magnificent  oil-paintings.  The  subject  of  one  was 
"The  English  Oak,"  painted  by  a  French  artist  of  the 
Eighteenth  century;  some  Bourbon  exile  perhaps,  so 
journing  in  London  while  awaiting  the  establishment  of 
the  ancien  regime.  In  the  foreground  of  this  painting 
a  great  grove  of  handsome  oaks  was  painted  in  with 
wonderful  skill,  while  above  the  trees  was  a  vista  of  bright 
blue  sky  upon  which  floated  a  fleecy  white  cloud  and 
across  which  a  flock  of  pigeons  were  flying.  In  the  middle 
distance  was  a  typical  English  farmhouse,  a  slight  smoke 
arising  from  the  red  brick  chimney  and  losing  itself 
among  the  tree-tops.  A  family  of  fowls  was  busily 
scratching  in  the  white  fenced  barnyard,  and  the  family 
washing  of  various  colors  was  strung  on  the  clothes-line. 
In  the  far  distance  a  glint  of  sunshine  penetrated  the 
green  depths  of  the  grove,  shimmering  beautifully  down 
among  the  ferns  of  the  thick  moss-carpeted  forest  floor 
and  producing  a  superb  light  effect.  This  painting  cost 
David  several  thousand  and  was  considered  by  connois 
seurs  as  a  marvel  of  technical  skill. 

The  other  painting  was  a  study  of  Pike's  Peak  during 
a  thunderstorm.  The  cloud  effect  was  sublime,  the  heavy 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        429 

indigo-tinted  fleeces  rolling  and  tumbling  in  angry  masses 
half  way  up  the  huge  mountain,  and  darting  their  livid 
lightnings  at  the  calm  majestic  snow-crowned  summit 
far  above. 

Hanging  there,  one  to  the  right,  the  other  to  the  left 
of  the  parlor  entrance  as  one  passed  into  the  main  portion 
of  the  house,  the  contrast  was  remarkable  and  pleasing 
to  the  eye.  The  one,  a  peaceful  landscape  of  rural  Eng 
land;  the  other,  revealing  the  angry  elements  in  awe- 
inspiring  action;  a  thunderstorm  wrestling  in  deadly 
grapple  with  a  towering  mountain  of  granite  and  snow. 

Gradually  as  Standish's  house  took  form  under  the 
hand  of  the  builders,  David  noted,  with  great  satisfaction, 
the  low  clinging  architecture  of  old  Spain;  also  the  ar 
rangement  of  the  grounds,  the  terraces  and  general  effect, 
the  good  taste  shown  in  planting  trees,  shrubs,  etc., 
pleased  him  very  much. 

But  of  greater  interest  was  his  eagerness  and  anxiety 
to  see  the  family  itself.  Finally,  when  the  mansion  was 
completed  and  furnished,  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  new 
home  one  day,  and  David  caught  sight  of  a  dainty  little 
woman,  a  tiny  boy  dressed  in  blue,  and  the  bent  figure 
and  snowy  locks  of  an  old  man,  all  in  tow  of  Standish 
Brown. 

David  peered  at  them  delightedly  from  behind  the 
shades  of  his  bird-caroling  fountain-playing  bower,  and 
thereafter  to  watch  the  Brown  mansion  and  its  interesting 
household  was  a  daily  event  in  his  life. 

David  Moore  could  take  up  a  business  proposition  and 
detect  in  an  instant  the  defect,  the  hidden  motive,  or  to 
use  the  sport's  clear-cut  term,  "the  graft."  Such  stuff 
he  invariably  tossed  back  to  the  promoter  as  the  huckster 
rejects  the  mutilated  or  counterfeit  coin.  If  on  the  other 
hand  the  proposition  was  promising  and  free  from  graft, 
the  kindly-eyed  banker  would  point  out  the  existing  flaws 
and  defects,  and  readily  suggest  remedies  which  would 
place  the  proposition  upon  sure  and  substantial  ground 
and  make  it  available  for  investment.  When  a  loan 
came  under  his  eagle  eye,  a  mere  glance  sufficed  to  detect 


430        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

its  character,  and  so  perfect  had  become  his  financial  in 
stinct,  that  he  would  almost  instantly  grasp  the  full  im 
port  of  all  paper  which  passed  thru  his  hands,  and  terrible 
indeed  was  he  to  the  party  who  dared  present  for  his 
consideration  any  other  than  bona  fide  gilt-edge  collateral. 

No  one  knew  the  full  extent  of  his  great  wealth,  other 
than  that  his  operations  and  interests  were  almost  nation 
wide.  He  owned  a  railroad  in  New  Jersey  and  carried 
large  blocks  of  stock  of  nearly  all  the  Western  railroads. 
He  owned  real  estate  from  San  Diego  to  Boston.  He 
knew  personally  the  Rothschilds  of  London,  Paris,  and 
Berlin;  and  was  upon  terms  of  intimate  acquaintance 
with  the  heads  of  nearly  all  the  great  banking  houses  of 
the  country.  The  financial  institutions  of  Colorado  dur 
ing  the  panic  of  '93,  had  crept  under  his  wing  as  closely 
as  newly  hatched  chicks  seek  the  downy  protection  of 
their  mother;  and  as  far  as  matters  of  acquisition  were 
concerned,  this  celebrated  Westerner  possessed  the  ac 
cumulative  instinct  to  acquire  and  administer  to  a  whole 
world.  The  irrevocable  limits  of  man's  years,  God's  short 
allotment,  alone  could  check  his  acquisitive  powers,  and 
too,  only  one  of  God's  most  innocent  creatures  could  win 
his  love. 

When  it  came  to  children,  David  Moore  had  a  heart 
as  big  as  the  great  rolling  world.  In  the  child  he  beheld 
pure,  pristine,  sparkling  innocence.  No  craft,  no  guile. 
The  child  being  the  one  human  quality  which  flowed 
into  the  old  banker's  heart  unquestioned.  For  in  spite 
of  his  naturally  optimistic  disposition,  the  three  score 
and  odd  years  of  his  broad  experience  with  all  classes  of 
people,  had  put  upon  his  personality  the  cloak  of  doubt. 

But  the  CHILD! 

There  was  no  doubt  in  his  love  for  the  child. 

"Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,  for  of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven." 

Little  Peter  at  this  time,  a  strong,  healthy  child  con 
siderably  over  two  years  old,  would  play  by  the  hour 
upon  the  green  terraced  lawn,  pulling  his  little  cart 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         431 

about  or  tossing  his  ball  in  the  bright  autumn  sunshine; 
at  the  sight  of  which  the  solitary  old  banker  widower 
lived  over  once  more  the  boyhood  of  his  own  little  son, 
Harry,  who  when  five  years  old,  was  laid  beside  the 
mother  in  Riverside  Cemetery  near  the  gentle  ripple  of 
the  Platte. 

One  day  the  old  man  in  his  loneliness  sought  closer 
fellowship  with  the  child  and  walking  slyly  to  the  brick 
wall  which  separated  the  two  properties,  he  dropped  an 
orange  into  the  yard  beyond  thru  the  pickets  of  the  iron 
fence  surmounting  the  wall. 

An  hour  or  more  passed  before  the  child  found  it,  but 
when  its  eyes  did  finally  spy  the  golden  fruit  lying  close 
beside  the  wall,  it  seized  it  with  such  a  cry  of  delight  that 
old  Davy  will  never  forget  that  moment  That  pure, 
joyous,  child  cry  of  wonderment  brought  tears  to  the  eyes 
of  the  lonely  old  man. 

Little  Peter  tossed  his  wonderful  find  in  the  air  awhile, 
and  when  weary  from  play,  he  sat  upon  the  steps  of  the 
side  porch  .in  plain  view  of  uncle  Davy  and  began  to 
eat  it,  his  mouth  puckering  tightly  from  the  slight  tart 
ness  of  the  fruit;  then  uncle  Davy  laughed  to  himself 
as  he  thought  how  the  mother  would  scold  when  she 
discovered  the  stains  made  by  the  juice  upon  the  child's 
white  collar  and  neat  suit. 

For  several  days  after  this  incident,  rain  or  sunshine, 
uncle  Davy  would  drop  some  sweetmeat  in  exactly  the 
same  spot  as  he  had  dropped  the  orange;  and  returning 
stealthily  to  his  lair  would  laugh  in  rich  anticipation,  and 
patiently  wait  until  little  Peter  made  for  his  magically 
replenished  larder  beside  the  garden  wall. 

Uncle  Davy  had  serious  arguments  with  himself  about 
giving  the  child  candy,  but  occasionally  he  would  allow 
a  bit  of  it,  after  gravely  consulting  with  the  confectioner 
as  to  the  purity  and  harmlessness  of  such  and  such  a 
bon-bon  or  chocolate. 

In  two  weeks  time  the  child  was  so  imbued  with  abso 
lute  faith  in  this  fairy  storehouse,  that  as  soon  as  he  shut 
the  house  door  he  would  rush  down  the  porch  steps  as 


432        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

fast  as  his  chubby  legs  would  allow,  and  would  soon 
emerge  upon  the  lawn  dancing  and  eating  to  David's 
great  delight.  Thus  for  weeks  the  birds  caroled  their 
happy  songs  in  their  golden  cages,  the  flowers  tossed  out 
their  fragrance,  the  fountain  played  its  soft  music  in  the 
.ear  of  the  dreaming  Sappho;  combining  to  delight  and 
comfort  the  lonely  old  banker  who  sat  in  his  easy  chair 
contentedly  smoking,  his  great  heart  throbbing  and 
vibrating  in  the  artless  joyousness  of  the  happy  innocent 
child. 

But  such  perfect  peace  and  absolute  joy  was  not  to 
last  very  long.  For  one  day  the  child  came  down  the 
porch  steps  pulling  eagerly  at  the  hand  of  his  father. 
The  child,  ever  generous  as  children  usually  are,  intended 
to  share  his  secret  with  his  father. 

Together  they  visited  the  place  beside  the  wall,  and 
the  child  triumphantly  held  up  a  large  red  cheeked 
apple.  Wonderful !  Was  it  not,  papa  Brown  ? 

Uncle  Davy  witnessed  the  affair  and  his  heart  trembled 
with  apprehension.  It  meant  discovery.  It  meant  inno 
cence  replaced  by  reason.  An  Eve-like  curiosity  would 
soon  devour  his  love-apple.  He  would  be  ever  so  sly  now. 
But  no,  he  would  not  destroy  the  child's  perfect  faith 
even  if  he  were  discovered.  So  one  fatal  day  as  he 
dropped  a  sack  of  pop-corn  over  the  wall  and  started  slyly 
back  to  his  retreat,  he  was  startled  by  the  noise  of  a  win 
dow  suddenly  thrust  up  in  the  Spanish  house,  and  a 
genial  voice  saying,  "Caught  at  last,  you  sly  old  rogue." 

They  talked  across  the  garden  wall,  the  lonely  old 
widower  and  the  happy  father,  and  it  was  in  this  manner 
that  <Standish  Brown  first  met  David  Moore. 

Within  a  month  the  brick  wall  between  the  two  proper 
ties  was  pierced  by  a  neat  iron  gate,  and  almost  every 
day  thereafter,  a  little  lad  passing  thru  would  rush  croon 
ing  and  laughing  into  the  snug  retreat  of  Uncle  Davy's 
arms. 

One  day  the  child  knocked  over  a  large  Chinese  vase 
which  had  cost  the  banker  a  small  fortune.  With  true 
child  instinct  little  Peter  had  demolished  the  most  valu- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        433 

able  vase  in  the  parlor.  The  servant  apprehensively 
gathered  up  the  pieces,  expecting  a  violent  explosion  from 
uncle  Davy,  but  instead  she  beheld,  merely  a  dear  old 
man  deeply  absorbed  in  quieting  the  sobs  of  the  child  in 
the  folds  of  his  loving  arms. 

That  night  as  he  stood  in  front  of  the  mirror  in  his 
dresser,  he  suddenly  observed,  as  he  gazed  ruefully  at  his 
ruddy  old  face; 

"  Fifteen  hundred  dollars  gone  to  smash,  Davy,  old 
boy,  unless  that  tinker  can  fix  it  up;  but  egad,  man,  I 
believe  you're  getting  younger  every  day." 

The  child  still  comes  thru  the  gate,  and  a  piece  of  bric- 
a-brac  gets  broken  now  and  then.  But  what  matter.  A 
lonely  old  man  is  living  over  again  a  few  happy  child- 
enriched  years. 


CHAPTER  II 

One  day  the  father  followed  the  child  thru  the  gate. 
He  was  wrestling  with  a  problem  and  David  Moore  must 
help  him  solve  it. 

The  banker  sat  smoking  in  his  great  chair  as  his  friend 
entered,  and  the  chubby  boy  sprang  into  uncle  Davy's  lap 
with  his  usual  impetuosity.  The  two  men  conversed  for 
a  long  time,  David  blowing  out  great  clouds  of  smoke, 
which  Standish  watched  as  it  rose  lazily  and  drifted  away 
among  the  tall  palms  and  golden  bird  cages;  while  little 
Peter  played  with  his  blocks  and  watched  the  goldfish 
dart  in  and  out  among  the  doors  and  windows  of  the 
submerged  German  castles. 

"Um-m,  so  you  want  to  build  a  smelter,  do  you, 
Standish?"  mused  David  after  a  long  silence,  "and  you 
have  to  build  a  railroad  to  Plume,  the  coal  fields,  and  the 
lime  quarries,  in  order  to  be  master  of  the  situation,  eh?" 

"Yes,  that's  it,  David.  It's  a  big  proposition  and  I 
need  help.  I've  got  the  money  to  do  it  all  with,  but 
I'm  almost  afraid  to  tackle  both  of  the  propositions  at 
once.  One  of  them,  alone,  is  enough  to  keep  a  fellow 
busy  for  a  while." 

"All  right,  Standish,  I'll  think  it  over  and  let  you 
know.  Getting  to  be  an  old  man,  my  boy,  almost  on 
the  shelf  now,  but  when  a  young  duck  like  you  comes 
along,  it  kinda  makes  me  want  to  creep  out  of  my  shell 
and  look  around." 

Later,  as  the  child  and  father  crossed  the  yard  and 
passed  thru  the  gate  and  on  into  their  home,  David's 
gaze  rested  on  them  lovingly.  Then  he  pondered  long 
and  deeply. 

Was  it  only  a  dream?    Would  it  ever  become  a  reality? 

Creature  of  fascination,  ever  haunting  the  Sublime 
Stage  and  bidding  him  dare. 


435 


436        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Yes,  never  more  fascinating  than  at  this  very  moment. 
Fairly  cringing  at  his  feet  and  licking  his  shoes  with  the 
dumb  beast's  desire  to  serve  and  please  its  matser. 

The  Steel  monster  again. 

Brandishing  some  four  hundred  and  odd  miles  of  shin 
ing  steel  rails.  Twisting  and  winding  them  among  great 
hills;  thrusting  them  thru  massive  mountains;  stringing 
them  across  great  rivers;  and  laying  them  across  green 
fertile  valleys  and  thru  vast  forests  as  they  laid  dimpling 
and  smiling  in  the  golden  western  sun. 

THE  SALT  LAKE  SHORT  LINE! 

A  magnificent  steel  highway  plunging  boldly  into  the 
Great  Hills  west  and  north  of  Denver. 

Many  years  ago,  when  the  famous  Jay  Gould  visited 
the  mountain  metropolis  and  viewed  the  boundless  re 
sources  of  the  Great  Divide,  he  had  said  to  David,  who 
was  then  merely  the  cashier  of  National  First ; 

"  Straight  west,  Mr.  Moore,  that's  the  railroad  you  need 
to  make  your  Denver  the  railroad  center  of  the  mountain 
West." 

Horace  Greeley  thought  so  too,  when  he  made  his 
famous  overland  trip  across  the  Rockies.  And  long  years 
ago,  the  well  meaning  but  unfortunate  Brick  Pomeroy 
had  invested  thousands  of  his  own  as  well  as  other  peoples 
money,  in  a  great  black  unfinished  tunnel  driven  in  a 
huge  buttress  of  Grays  Peak  near  Silver  Plume,  in  a 
vain  endeavor  to  pierce  the  Great  Divide  for  a  short  cut 
to  Salt  Lake  City,  the  Mormon  capital,  and  Ogden,  the 
Huntington  gateway  to  the  Pacific. 

In  vindication  of  those  sages  of  the  past  generation,  it 
is  only  necessary  to  cite  that  the  great  Rio  Grande  railroad 
swings  for  over  a  hundred  miles  southward  along  the 
range  from  Denver,  before  it  dares  to  make  the  leap  to 
ward  the  Great  Hills  to  distant  Utah.  Then  after  wind 
ing  and  doubling  tortuously  upon  itself,  it  has  to  return 
all  this  distance  way  over  towards  Utah,  to  at  last  labor 
iously  crawl  into  Salt  Lake  City,  having  gone  out  of  its 
way  several  hundred  miles  from  a  direct  line  northwest 
of  Denver,  stringing  out  seven  hundred  and  forty-one 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        437 

miles  of  steel  to  cover  a  direct  distance  of  only  four 
hundred.  While  the  Union  Pacific,  the  northern  route 
to  Salt  Lake,  crawling  way  up  into  Wyoming  via 
Cheyenne,  has  laid  down  six  hundred  and  twenty-eight 
miles  of  track  to  cover  the  same  distance. 

Truly  a  sad  state  of  affairs  in  this  day  and  age  of 
modern  world-wide  economy  and  science,  for  Salt  Lake 
lies  only  about  four  hundred  miles  north  and  west  of 
Denver  as  the  crow  flies;  and  thus  from  two  hundred 
and  twenty-eight  to  three  hundred  and  forty-one  miles 
of  precious  steel  hung  up  and  wasted  to  cover  that  com 
paratively  short  stretch.  A  source  of  constant  annoyance 
to  the  traveler,  who  looks  regretfully  upon  the  map  in 
his  railroad  folder  as  he  observes  the  conductors  take 
seven  hundred  and  forty-one  units  of  mileage  from  his 
mileage-book;  when,  if  a  direct  line  were  in  operation 
between  Denver  and  Salt  Lake,  it  would  only  take  a  little 
more  than  four  hundred  miles  of  coupon  transportation, 
to  say  nothing  about  the  great  saving  of  time  and  the 
reduced  cost  of  meals  and  Pullman  service.  . 

David  Moore  had  dreamed  for  many  years  of  building 
this  short  line  to  Salt  Lake.  But  so  many  other  things 
had  absorbed  his  time  and  attention  that  he  had  felt  it 
too  great  a  task  for  a  man  of  his  years  to  undertake.  But 
this  Standish  Brown,  still  youthful,,  rich,  and  an  ac 
knowledged  power  in  the  state ;  and  who  also  contemplated 
the  construction  of  some  one  hundred  and  fifty  odd  miles 
of  railroad  to  connect  his  proposed  new  smelter  with  his 
group  of  mines  at  Plume,  and  to  tap  certain  coal  fields 
and  lime  quarries.  Why  couldn't  this  big  husky  chap 
help  on  this  Short  Line  proposition  as  well;  especially 
as  his  contemplated  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  of  rail 
road  was  almost  on  a  direct  line  from  Denver  to  Salt 
Lake.  Why  not  wake  up  then,  David  Moore,  and  add 
the  other  three  or  four  hundred  miles,  and  thus  achieve 
what  Denver  has  waited  for  so  long,  the  Short  Line  to  Salt 
Lake? 

As  the  old  banker  sat  there  and  smoked,  and  looked 
upon  the  great  play  on  the  boards  of  the  Sublime  Stage, 


438         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

he  actually  became  enthused,  and  rising  to  his  feet  he 
walked  slowly  back  and  forth  with  his  hands  clasped  be 
hind  his  stout  back.  Musing  thus  beside  the  soft  playing 
fountain  amid  the  green  palms,  in  the  presence  of  the 
dreaming  Sappho,  he  became  deeply  absorbed  in  the  Play, 
often  applauding  the  actors  and  sighing  deeply  in  the  in 
tensity  of  his  contemplation. 

He  arrived  at  his  office  at  the  National  First  that  day 
an  hour  late,  the  first  tardiness  for  years.  The  sympa 
thetic  officials  nodded  their  heads  knowingly  and  thought, 
"Sure  enough,  the  dear  old  boy  is  feeling  his  years." 

But  uncle  Davy  fooled  them  this  time,  for  that  night 
the  dream  was  over,  the  spiritual  reality  was  to  be  seconded 
by  the  material  reality.  The  inward  fact  was  to  be 
demonstrated  by  the  outward  fact. 

David  Moore  had  decreed  that  the  Short  Line  was  to 
be  built.  It  was  to  be  his  crowning  monument  and  effort 
for  Denver,  his  beloved  Colorado,  and  the  golden  West. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  September  of  1902,  the  huge  Web  of  the  Spiders 
began  to  shake.  Not  very  alarmingly  to  be  sure,  but  just 
a  disagreeable,  annoying,  persistent  agitation,  which 
caused  the  Spiders  to  begin  an  investigation;  with  the 
alarming  result  that  several  Wasps  in  the  vicinity  of 
Denver  were  found  building  a  nest,  and  that  these  slight 
shakings  of  the  Web  was  caused  by  the  draught  of  certain 
active  Wasp  wings,  flying  dangerously  close  to  the  Rocky 
Mountain  meshes  of  the  National  Railroad  Spider  Web. 

This  Web  was  a  colossal,  appalling  affair.  It  was  spun 
out  in  vast  terrifying  strands  of  shining  steel  to  all  parts 
of  the  nation.  In  fact,  the  Web  really  consisted  of  numer 
ous  smaller  strands  joined  together  at  a  point  of  vantage 
where  all  the  Spiders  could  readily  meet  and  talk  over 
their  affairs. 

This  vantage  point  was  New  York  City,  from  which 
the  Vanderbilt  and  Cassett  webs  stretching  westward  to 
Chicago  and  St.  Louis,  were  connected  with  the  Harriman, 
Hill,  and  Moore  webs;  incidentally  throwing  out  a  strand 
or  so  toward  the  great  Gould  web,  which  stretched  south 
ward  from  Detroit  and  Toledo  toward  Galveston  and  El 
Paso. 

North  and  east  of  New  York  City,  the  great  Hall  web 
spread  over  New  England  and  far  northward  to  Montreal 
and  Nova  Scotia,  where  it  made  a  connection  with  the 
Van  Home  web.  This  Van  Home  web  also  stretched 
far  westward  to  Vancouver,  with  a  long,  slender  strand 
reaching  down  to  Seattle,  Tacoma,  and  Portland. 

South  of  New  York  City  was  spread  the  Morgan-Bel- 
mont  web  clear  thru  to  New  Orleans,  where  its  shin 
ing  meshes  were  woven  in  with  the  Harriman  and  Gould 
webs,  which  hung  down  the  continent  from  Chicago  and 

'  439 


440        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

St.  Louis,  stretching  far  westward  to  San  Francisco  and 
southward  to  El  Paso  and  the  cities  of  old  Mexico. 

If  a  blow  were  struck  upon  any  of  these  enormous 
webs  of  steel,  it  would  be  instantly  felt  by  these  king 
Spiders  in  little  old  New  York,  whose  nests  were  built 
all  over  Isle  Manhattan.  Palatial  nests  costing  millions 
of  dollars,  and  which  were  furnished  and  decorated  with 
the  vast  spoil  and  plunder  of  those  poor  flies  and  other 
insects  which  had  been  caught  in  the  fatal  meshes  of 
these  luring  lines  of  steel. 

Quite  frequently,  too,  these  fat,  yellow-bellied  Spiders 
would  quarrel  among  themselves;  to  such  an  extent  at 
times,  that  they  would  rob  each  other  of  their  webs,  and 
savagely  tear  great  rents  in  the  steely  skeins  in  their 
fierce  spider  battles;  and  often,  too,  the  weaker  spider 
would  die  from  the  effects  of  his  hard  encounter. 

If  he  did  thus  die.  he  was  immediately  devoured  and 
his  web  carefully  divided  among  the  balance  of  the  spider 
kings.  That  was  why  some  of  these  huge  yellow  fellows 
were  so  big  and  fat.  Their  swollen,  distended  yellow  bel 
lies  being  crammed  full  of  the  little  fellows,  cruelly  slain 
and  gluttonously  and  remorselessly  devoured. 

Thus,  the  entire  National  Railroad  Spider  Web  was 
ruled  by  about  a  dozen  real  big  yellow  bellies.  The  others 
being  content  to  rule  smaller  webs,  and  who  would  quick 
ly  abandon  the  meshes  of  their  steely  skein,  if  one  of 
the  big,  fat  boys  should  choose  to  meander  over  it. 

But  to  return  to  this  rude  shaking  of  the  National  Web 
near  Denver. 

It  had  long  since  come  to  the  ears  of  the  Harriman 
and  Gould  yellow-bellies,  that  several  surveying  parties 
were  at  work  in  the  Great  Hills  west  of  the  mountain 
metropolis. 

What  did  it  mean? 

Rumor  said  that  certain  Denver  capitalists  were  going 
to  build  a  short  line  to  Salt  Lake  City,  and  that  these 
surveyors  were  locating  the  line. 

Oh !    Terrible ! 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE         Ji 

The  very  thought  of  it  arousing  the  yellow-bellied 
spider  kings,  Every  Hold  Harriman  and  Gougy  Gould 
to  wildest  rage.  For  who  would  dare  to  propose  a  rail 
road  thru  that  great  empire  of  undeveloped  country, 
which  lies  between  Denver  and  Salt  Lake?  A  broad  and 
rich  domain  of  agricultural,  fruit,  grazing,  coal,  and  tim 
ber  lands;  comprising  a  magnificent  region  of  mountain 
ranges  secreting  countless  treasuries  of  precious  mineral, 
making  up  in  the  aggregate  an  almost  wholly  undeveloped 
territory  of  nearly  sixty  thousand  square  miles. 

Did  not  the  rails  of  Harriman's  Union  Pacific  hedge  in 
this  great  domain  on  the  north ;  while  Gould's  Rio  Grande 
fenced  it  in  on  the  south?  And  between  these  two  fast 
binding  strands  of  steel  who  would  dare  lay  a  rail  for 
car  and  locomotive? 

Yet  such,  for  a  full  quarter  of  a  century  had  been  the 
miserable  situation  of  this  glorious  land,  bursting  with 
wealth  and  treasure,  and  sighing  for  a  brave  knight 
to  overthrow  these  fat  Yellow-bellies,  by  thrusting  a  bright 
steel  lance  of  a  railroad  straight  thru  the  center  of  this 
magnificent  virgin  empire  from  Denver  to  the  Mormon 
capital. 

This  was  not  the  only  trouble  that  the  Yellow-bellies 
were  experiencing  at  this  time,  for  the  National  Web 
had  also  been  frightfully  shaken  near  Los  Angeles, 
where  a  certain  Montana  copper  king  was  projecting  a 
line  of  steel  across  Nevada  and  California  to  reach  a 
short  line  up  to  Salt  Lake  from  the  west,  and  satisfy  the 
cry  of  Los  Angelans  for  a  quick  route  to  Chicago  and  the 
far  East.  As  it  is  now,  they  had  to  swing  clear  up  to  San 
Francisco  and  Reno,  or  curve  way  down  to  Albuquerque, 
before  they  could  cut  across  the  country  toward  the 
metropolis  of  the  Great  Lakes. 

My!  Such  impudence!  Just  because  brother  Clark 
had  nothing  else  to  do,  he  would  dare  to  run  a  little 
bunch  of  rails  up  to  Utah,  and  gayly  run  locomotives 
and  cars  across  sandy  Nevada  to  Salt  Lake.  How  the  Harri 
man  yellow-belly  did  squeal  when  he  discovered  Clarky's 
game. 


442         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Kinda  pleased  Gougy  Gould  tho.  For  Gougy  secretly 
intended  to  place  a  Yellow-belly  crown  upon  the  copper 
maced  Clark,  and  formally  introduce  him  into  the  ways 
of  railroad  spiderdom  when  he  came  rolling  up  in  his 
new  cars  to  Salt  Lake.  Then  when  he  had  administered 
the  Yellow-belly  password  to  him,  they  would  weave  in 
their  webs  of  steel,  and  start  thru  trains  over  them  be 
tween  Detroit  and  Los  Angeles,  via  Chicago  and  Salt  Lake. 

"Oh!  What  a  joke  it  will  be  on  Every  Hold  Harri- 
man,"  thought  Gougy. 

But,  ugh!  Dark  brown  taste  in  Gougy's  moutE.  For 
in  his  joy  over  Clarky's  coming  to  Salt  Lake,  he  had 
forgotten  those  Denver  Wasps.  This  little  Denver  affair 
might  spoil  his  new  transcontinental  scheme.  So  under 
these  alarming  conditions,  Gougy  Gould  and  Every  Hold 
Harriman  met  in  the  gay  capital  of  the  Spiders,  on  the 
little  isle  of  Manhattan,  and  decided  that  this  Denver 
uprising  must  be  nipped  in  the  bud. 

But,  oh!  A  horrid  wasp  was  such  a  different  proposi 
tion  from  a  poor  fly  or  a  measly  gnat. 


CHAPTER  IV 

Meanwhile  what  a  busy  time  these  Denver  Wasps 
were  having. 

Finance  wasp,  Mr.  David  Moore. 

Construction  wasp,  Mr.  Standish  Brown. 

The  promoter  and  the  builder  respectively,  of  the  Salt 
Lake  Short  Line. 

Mr.  Old  Residenter,  who  had  dreamed  of  such  a  line 
for  two  generations,  did,  really  prick  up  his  ears  at  this 
combination. 

"What!  Dave  Moore  and  40  Rounds  Brown,  the  head 
of  this  Short  Line  proposition?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
rushed  down  to  the  National  First  and  interviewed  blunt 
Horace  Nichols. 

"  Fact,"  said  Horace. 

"Well,  here's  where  I  get  in  on  the  ground  floor,"  he 
commented.  And  sure  enough,  when  the  subscription 
books  were  opened  up,  he  put  his  name  down  for  a  big 
bunch  of  the  green  and  gold  bonds  of  the  Denver,  North 
western,  and  Salt  Lake. 

A  suite  of  offices  were  opened  up  by  the  new  corpora 
tion  in  the  Mountain  building,  in  connection  with  those 
of  the  construction  corporation,  known  as  the  Short  Line 
Construction  Co.  This  latter  concern  was  to  build  the 
line,  deal  with  the  various  contractors  and  dealers,  and 
eventually,  as  the  road  was  constructed,  it  would  be  for 
mally  turned  over  to  the  parent  corporation  for  operation 
and  maintenance,  Standish  being  the  head  of  the  con 
struction  concern. 

As  the  various  surveying  parties  made  their  reports 
the  Short  Line  gradually  took  form  on  paper.  It  was 
really  a  great  project.  For,  in  addition  to  penetrating 
the  great  Front  Range  of  the  Rockies,  there  were  doz 
ens  of  minor  ranges  to  be  crossed,  numerous  deep  cafioned 

443 


444        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

rivers,  and  many  chains  of  rugged  hills.  A  big 
change  was  in  store  for  Teddy  Roosevelt's  shooting  pre 
serve  in  'this  part  of  the  country,  for  the  proposed  route 
of  the  Short  Line  passed  right  thru  the  hill  country 
where  the  strenuous  Teddy  followed  the  cougar  hounds 
in  1901. 

As  Standish  inspected  the  sum  total  of  the  surveyor's 
reports  with  the  assistance  of  a  corps  of  engineers,  he 
found  that  they  had  opened  up  a  splendid  and  feasible 
line.  A  line  that  was  at  least  two  hundred  miles  shorter 
than  the  Union  Pacific,  and  moreover,  a  comparatively 
easy  grade  for  a  mountain  road. 

An  easy  GRADE,  that  was  almost  as  essential  as  a 
direct  line.  It  is  the  one  great  object  of  modern  railroad 
construction.  Formerly  engineers  were  eager  to  get  a 
line  thru  at  almost  any  grade,  but  nowadays  the  boldest 
of  them  are  forced  to  seek  easy  grades,  modern  railroad 
•magnates  demanding  it  as  absolutely  necessary  to  eco 
nomic  transportation. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  line  satisfied  Standish. 
But  there  was  something  else  to  be  done  before  he  could 
advertise  for  bids  and  begin  construction.  He  must  wait 
a  little  yet,  and  settle  once  and  for  all  a  most  important 
question. 

The  PASS. 

The  pass  which  led  over  the  main  range  of  the  Rockies. 

Oh!  These  railroad  kings  are  well  dubbed  Spiders. 
For  in  the  interest  of  their  monopolies  one  of  them  had  a 
feathery  right-of-way  up  the  pass  that  Standish  had  picked 
out  for  his  road.  And  more,  you  can  bet  he  would 
fight  to  hold  it,  too,  for  every  Yellow-belly  on  Wall  Street 
was  pledged  to  kill  off  these  Colorado  Wasps. 

The  Jimmy  Hill  spider  had  a  right-of-way  up  the  St. 
Vrain.  The  Harriman  up  the  Boulder.  The  Hawley  up 
the  South  Boulder. 

Yet,  one  of  these  passes  must  be  utilized  for  the  Short 
Line. 

Which  one,  did  you  say? 

Well,  that  was  Standish  Brown's  business. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        445 

And  as  a  sample  of  what  the  Wasps  were  up  against, 
it  was  only  twenty-four  hours  after  the  Spiders  on  Wall 
Street  had  learned  of  the  projected  Short  Line,  that  every 
one  of  the  above  named  passes  was  guarded  by  a  force  of 
Pinkertons  comfortably  housed  in  hastily  built  lodges, 
and  sworn  to  maintain  the  most  vigilant  and  faithful 
watch  upon  these  Colorado  Wasps. 

Standish  couldn't  make  a  move  until  this  pass  business 
was  settled,  and  he  must  move  at  once,  even  tho  it 
was  winter  and  the  mountains  buried  deep  in  snow. 


CHAPTER  V 

Gus.  Johnson  was  in  hard  straits  these  days.  Cause — 
short  rations  on  liquor,  and  Drink  was  protesting  might- 

ny. 

Mrs.  Johnson,  the  poor,  sad  faced  little  woman,  who 
had  so  long  denied  herself  the  necessities  of  life  in  order 
that  her  husband  and  Drink  might  have  their  fill,  had 
called  on  Standish  one  day,  and  requested  that  a  por 
tion  of  her  husband's  salary  be  turned  over  direct  to  her. 
Such  an  arrangement  would  support  their  little  family 
comfortably,  gradually  pay  off  the  debts;  and  the  drunk 
ard  could  then  spend  what  he  pleased  upon  his  mistress 
without  further  neglecting  his  family. 

Horrors!  Johnson  was  doled  out  an  allowance  of  only 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month  for  him  and  Drink.  Why, 
it  wouldn't  feed  them  for  two  weeks,  so  for  several  months 
after  this  arrangement  was  put  into  effect  by  his  desper 
ate  wife  and  employer,  the  drunkard  made  life  miserable 
for  the  little  woman.  Once,  egged  on  by  his  mistress,  he 
had  attempted  to  beat  her,  but  was  prevented  by  the 
timely  arrival  of  his  son,  Harry,  who  was  developing 
rapidly  both  mentally  and  physically.  Thus  Johnson 
was  deterred  from  the  act  as  he  looked  into  the  courag 
eous  blue  eyes  of  his  sturdy  little  son. 

"A  tough  little  kid,"  he  thought,  "might  hit  me  with 
a  club,  or  brain  me  with  an  axe  if  he  took  a  notion." 

One  day,  however,  as  the  drunkard  stood  in  the  marble 
lined  entrance  of  the  Insurance  building,  holding  his 
paltry  check  of  twenty-five  dollars  in  his  trembling 
hand,  the  most  of  which  he  already  owed  to  a  nearby 
saloonkeeper,  and  also  inwardly  raging  at  the  thought 
that  his  wife  would  probably  call  at  the  office  in  a  few 
moments  and  receive  a  fat  check  of  seventy-five  dol 
lars,  made  out  in  her  own  name,  all  of  which  he  had 

447 


448        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

earned  himself  and  was,  in  his  eyes,  justly  due  him,  he 
was  almost  bumped  into  by  the  spare  figure  of  John 
Charles  Rose. 

"  Why !  How  do  you  do,  Gus,"  exclaimed  that  worthy, 
with  all  the  cordiality  that  his  selfish  nature  could  as 
sume. 

"Pretty  good,  thank  you,"  replied  Johnson  suspici 
ously. 

"Won't — won't  you  come  over  and  have  a  drink  with 
me,  old  boy?"  said  the  attorney  in  a  lower  tone,  looking 
furtively  about  him. 

"What!  Great  Caesar,  he  must  be  crazy,"  thought 
the  drunkard  in  sheer  amazement. 

But  Drink  said  to  him :  "  You  chump,  get  in  on  this, 
quick.  There's  sure  a  hen  on." 

So,  shoving  the  check  in  his  pocket,  the  drunkard 
ambled  unsteadily  after  the  attorney,  who  led  the  way  to 
a  nearby  place,  which  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  French 
restaurant.  Johnson  knew  the  place  well.  It  was  a  fav 
orite  hang  out  for  those  tipplers  who  didn't  like  to  be 
seen  in  a  regular  wide  open  saloon. 

As  they  sat  down  at  one  of  the  tables,  the  attorney 
looked  meaningly  at  the  drink-depraved  bookkeeper  of 
Standish  Brown. 

Another  New  York  crowd  required  information. 

The  Spiders  wanted  to  know  about  the  Wasps,  and  they 
had  employed  the  sly  Mosquito  to  obtain  the  necessary 
information. 

The  upshot  of  this  meeting  between  Rose  and  Johnson 
was,  the  sale  of  certain  information  by  Johnson  to  Rose 
for  a  generous  consideration.  Part  of  said  considera 
tion  paid  into  Johnson's  hands  that  very  afternoon,  the 
balance  to  follow  as  rapidly  as  the  coveted  knowledge 
was  delivered  from  time  to  time  to  the  aforesaid  Rose. 

Johnson  and  Drink  left  the  place  deliriously  happy 
in  the  thought  of  unlimited  libations,  and  John  Charles 
Rose  with  the  fond  hope  of  discovering  the  most  secret 
moves  of  the  Colorado  Wasps. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Some  sixty  miles  from  Denver  as  the  crow  flies,  lies 
Hot  Sulphur  Springs,  the  county-seat  of  Grand  County, 
Colorado,  and  the  exact  center  of  famous  Middle  Park. 

Been  lying  there  thus  for  half  century. 

Why? 

No  RAILROAD. 

Shut  in  by  lofty  mountains  on  all  sides,  Middle  Park 
lies  in  the  lap  of  the  Great  Divide,  a  veritable  mountain 
paradise.  Sleeping  until  that  magic  day  when  a  ribbon 
of  steel  with  its  sinuous,  glittering  folds  would  wend 
its  way  among  the  snowy  towers  of  the  Great  Hills,  and 
loose  at  last  in  the  valley  of  the  Grand,  the  shrieking 
locomotive  screaming  its  conquering  blast  of  civilization. 

Even  fair  cup-shaped  Bohemia  is  not  shut  in  as  is 
this  beautiful  natural  park  of  Colorado.  If  the  famous 
home  of  the  Czechs  is  a  cup  among  the  mountains, 
Middle  Park  is  certainly  a  bowl. 

To  the  east,  the  mighty  Front  Range  rises  an  almost 
impregnable  barrier,  its  peaks  soaring  nearly  two  miles 
above  the  level  of  the  Great  Plains,  culminating  in  Longs 
mighty  mass,  14,271  feet  above  sea-level.  Even  Berthoud 
Pass,  the  mail  route  to  the  Park,  being  way  above  timber- 
line. 

To  the  south  is  the  Williams  River  range,  which  peaks 
attain  an  altitude  of  over  12,000  feet. 

To  the  west  is  the  noble  Park  range,  culminating  in 
the  Rabbit  Ears  in  the  extreme  northwest,  which  sharp 
brown  tips  rise  nearly  11,000  feet  above  the  sea. 

While  to  the  north  is  the  solid  granite  rampart  of  the 
Continental  Divide,  peaked  on  the  western  edge  by  Mt. 
Whitely,  a  10,000-foot  rater,  and  on  the  eastern  edge  by 
Baker  Mountain,  12,613  feet  high. 

MIDDLE  PARK! 

449 


450        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Shut  off  from  the  world.  Its  center  only  sixty  miles 
from  busy  Denver,  but  intervening,  is  the  snow-crested 
barrier  which  for  nearly  half  a  century  has  defied  the 
locomotive. 

Bud  Snyder  had  lived  in  the  Park  since  '66.  Squat 
ting  there  on  a  half  section  of  Grand  River  bottom  wait 
ing  for  the  railroad,  and  the  boom  its  advent  was  sure  to 
bring,  his  once  long  chestnut  locks,  having  turned  white 
as  snow  in  this  weary  vigil  of  thirty-six  years.  On  one 
of  the  upper  slopes  of  the  Vasquez  range  he  owned  a 
group  of  mineral  claims,  which  he  had  persistently 
worked  for  years.  Had  a  fine  body  of  ore,  too.  A  rich 
streak  of  sylvanite  in  several  places.  No  good,  tho,  until 
a  railroad  came  into  the  Park  to  haul  it  to  market.  Not 
to  be  compared  at  this  time  with  his  good  half  section, 
upon  which  he  could  raise  a  crop  of  grain  and  graze  his 
horses  and  cattle.  Bud  was  the  sheriff  of  the  county,  too. 
Not  much  of  a  job  to  be  sure,  but  together  with  his  long 
residence  in  the  vicinity,  it  had  established  him  as  the 
king  pigeon  of  Grand  County. 

One  day  in  the  winter  of  1902-3,  Bud  sat  by  the  fire 
in  his  neat  log-house  looking  out  of  the  window  up  at 
the  Berthoud  stage  road  for  the  stage  from  Frazer.  Big 
blizzard  raging  on  the  upper  hills,  some  eighteen  inches 
of  snow  in  the  Park  itself.  Stage  late  as  usual,  with  the 
Great  Hills  white  and  the  beautiful  scudding  in  an  ugly 
wind  blowing  from  North  Park  and  the  Wyoming  line. 

However,  the  stage  hove  in  sight  at  last,  emerging  from 
under  a  deep  gray  snow  cloud  which  was  coursing  the 
slopes  of  the  Vasquez,  causing  the  driver  to  crouch 
down  low  in  the  seat,  as  the  sturdy  mountain  horses, 
with  long  icicles  clinging  to  their  steaming  nostrils,  trot 
ted  at  a  good  pace  in  the  teeth  of  the  wind. 

At  the  sight  of  it,  Bud  rose,  put  on  his  hat,  and  started 
to  the  postoffice  to  get  his  mail.  He  was  watching  the 
Denver  papers  closely  these  days,  reading  about  the  new 
railroad.  He  had  also  encountered  a  couple  of  surveying 
parties  on  the  Grand  the  previous  fall,  and  somehow  he 
kind  of  felt  that  the  railroad  was  to  be  a  go  this  time. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         451 

He  did  not  know  Standish  Brown  personally,  but  he 
had  not  forgotten  an  incident  which  occurred  back  in  the 
later  80's,  when  the  Clear  Creek  boys  from  Empire 
had  packed  provisions  over  the  almost  impassable  Ber- 
thoud  for  the  relief  of  the  people  at  the  Springs.  He  re 
membered  that  Standish  Brown  was  one  of  the  men  who 
had  footed  the  bill. 

"  God  bless  him,"  thought  Bud  many  a  time  since  the 
new  railroad  had  been  proposed  and  he  knew  that  Brown 
was  one  of  the  promoters,  "Mebbe  he'll  be  my  lucky 
strike  this  time,  too." 

Bud  reached  the  postoffice  just  in  time  to  hear  a  tall 
man,  who  was  bundled  up  in  a  huge  fur  overcoat,  ask  for 
the  whereabouts  of  Bud  Snyder. 

"Reckon  that's  me,  boss.  What  kin  I  do  fer  you?" 
said  Bud,  stepping  up  to  the  newcomer,  and  proceeding 
to  cut  off  a  huge  chunk  of  "Battle-ax,"  jamming  it  into  his 
cavernous  mouth. 

"  Glad  to  know  you,  Mr.  Snyder.  I  want  to  see  you 
about  a  little  personal  matter  when  you  have  time,"  re 
plied  the  stranger,  evidently  not  wishing  to  speak  his 
business  more  fully  in  the  presence  of  several  inhabitants 
of  the  Springs  who  had  gathered  for  their  mail. 

"  All  right,  stranger,  if  you'll  jest  wait  until  I  get  my 
mail,  we'll  go  down  to  the  shack." 

A  few  minutes  later,  Bud  ushered  his  visitor  into  the 
living  room  of  what  he  was  wont  to  call  his  "shack," 
but  which  was  really  a  commodious  two-story  log-house. 

"Women  folks  all  dead,  stranger — only  old  Daddy 
and  me  left,"  he  added,  as  a  great  fox  hound  with  an  al 
most  snow  white  muzzle  rose  from  his  place  near  the  fire 
and  licked  his  master's  extended  hand. 

"  Well,  spit  it  out,  pard,"  Bud  continued,  as  his  visitor 
threw  off  his  great  coat  and  they  seated  themselves  in 
front  of  the  fireplace,  after  Bud  had  piled  the  fire  high 
with  pine-knots. 

"Mr.  Snyder,"  said  the  stranger,  "my  name  is  Stan- 
dish  Brown,  and ." 

"What!     Your  name  Standish  Brown?"   interrupted 


452        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  amazed  and  delighted  Bud,  rising  to  his  feet  and  ex 
tending  his  hand  eagerly,  which  Standish  was  pleased  to 
grasp  heartily;  "Why,  gol  darn  my  old  yellow  galluses 
and  dirty  red  westcoat,  if  I  ain't  tickled  to  death  and 
buried  in  a  lead  coffin  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brown.  Shake, 
my  dear  sir,  if  it's  the  last  shake  I  have  on  this  danged 
old  clod  of  earth." 

For  a  long  time  Standish  conversed  "with  Bud,  and  as 
the  sentences  fell  from  his  lips,  the  eyes  of  the  gaunt, 
wrinkled  sheriff  of  Grand  County  opened  wider  and 
wider.  As  he  finished,  the  sheriff's  jaws  closed  with  a 
grim  snap. 

"  By  G ,  it's  a  go,  guvnur,"  he  said  in  reply.    "I'll 

match  Grand  County  deputies  against  "Pinkertons  any 
day,  when  it's  as  plain  a  game  as  this;  and  besides,  guv 
nur,"  he  continued,  a  big  tear  trickling  down  his  cheek, 
"I've  been  waiting  thirty-six  long  years  fer  this  here  rail 
road,  and  the  man  that  steps  'tween  me  and  engine  smoke 
has  got  ter  fight.  My  little  old  half  section  will  bring 
me  a  good  hundred  dollars  an  acre  soon  as  the  road  gets 
in  here,  and  the  mines  on  the  Vasquez  will  do  the  rest. 
You  see,  guvnur,  I've  got  a  widdy  waiting  fer  me  down 
in  old  Indianny,  and  you  can  jest  put  it  down  that  we'll 
fly  high  when  the  Short  Line  comes  to  town.  And  let 
me  tell  you  another  thing,  too,  guvnur,  every  danged  man 
thet  I  sign  up  fer  this  here  gang  of  deps,  is  goin'  to  be 
a  man  thet's  got  a  claim  jest  like  me.  Them's  the  kind 
thet  they'll  be  no  foolin'  with,  guvnur,  the  boys  thet's 
fightin'  fer  their  homes." 

Standish  caught  the  return  stage  to  Denver.  He  had 
closed  a  deal  with  Bud  Snyder  concerning  a  certain  pass 
which  led  across  the  Front  Range  into  Middle  Park. 


CHAPTER  VII 

David  Moore  financed  the  first  hundred  miles  of  the 
Short  Line  with  great  success.  Local  capitalists  sub 
scribed  generously  for  the  bonds,  and  his  old  friends,  the 
Berliners,  went  into  the  deal  for  several  million.  Like 
wise  a  number  of  old  money-bag  friends  in  Boston  and 
Baltimore.  Indeed  so  apparently  substantial  was  the  sup 
port  of  the  enterprise  at  first,  that  Uncle  Davy  suddenly 
found  himself  at  the  head  of  a  concern  which  not  only 
promised  to  return  large  profits,  but  also  to  gain  for  him 
the  eternal  gratitude  of  all  loyal  Coloradoans. 

As  with  the  illustrious  First  Citizen,  his  name  alone 
inspired  the  confidence  of  investors.  Solid  capital  that 
name,  David  Moore,  forty  years  of  absolute  business  in 
tegrity  having  made  it  a  power  that  the  actual  posses 
sion  of  twenty  millions  in  the  hands  of  a  less  competent 
man  could  not  make. 

David  kept  a  close  watch  on  his  younger  associate,  and 
was  thoroly  posted  as  to  the  surveyor's  route-develop 
ing  process.  But  thru  it  all,  he  did  not  omit  his  daily 
hour  with  little  Peter  in  the  midst  of  the  sun-parlor. 

Very  shortly  after  Standish  encountered  the  vexatious 
question  of  the  Pass,  which  also  involved  many  right-of- 
way  matters,  he  realized  that  he  must  preserve  absolute 
secrecy  in  his  correspondence,  or  his  plans  might  com 
pletely  miscarry.  A  few  days  before  his  trip  to  the 
Springs,  a  neatly  dressed  young  woman  began  to  appear 
every  weekday  morning  at  the  rear  door  of  the  Brown 
mansion.  A  sewing  girl  for  Madame  Fiorina,  perhaps, 
but  in  reality  a  private  stenographer  handling  the  secret 
correspondence  of  the  Short  Line,  especially  relating  to 
that  \p°rtion  designated  by  Standish  as  "Pass  A,"  the 
real  point  of  attack  on  the  Yellow-bellies;  while  his 

453 


454        THETHEATRE     TERRIBLE 

downtown  correspondence  was  devoted  to  "Pass  B,"  the 
point  of  a  feigned  attack. 

It  was  in  this  latter  point  of  attack  that  Gus  Johnson 
was  very  much  interested,  both  in  his  regular  position 
as  Standish's  private  bookkeeper,  and  as  an  occasional 
privileged  visitor  at  the  Short  Line  office  in  the  Mountain 
building,  where  he  seemed  to  have  no  difficulty  in  keep 
ing  thoroly  posted  as  to  the  progress  of  the  line. 

The  Mosquito  was  in  high  good  humor  these  times. 
Daily  bulletins  from  Johnson  disclosed  the  entire  plans 
of  the  Wasps,  these  bulletins  being  duly  transmitted  to 
the  New  York  Yellow-bellies  by  the  exultant  Rose.  With 
such  a  perfect  organization  these  Wasps  were  scarcely  as 
dangerous  as  so  many  poor  flies. 

About  this  time  the  Pinkerton  forces  were  considerably 
strengthened  at  "Pass  B."  Soon  the  arrival  of  certain 
carloads  of  rails,  ties,  and  other  railroad  supplies  were 
noted  at  the  nearby  town  of  Lion  on  the  Vrain.  This 
was  one  of  the  points  where  the  Jimmy  Hill  spider  had 
fastened  his  web  to  the  foothills  of  the  central  Rockies, 
and  guarded  the  entrance  to  the  St.  Vrain  canon.  At 
this  indisputable  evidence  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt 
in  the  minds  of  the  Spiders  and  their  emissaries,  but  that 
the  Short  Line  folks  were  getting  ready  for  a  raid,  to  block 
which  the  Spiders  employed  a  couple  of  dozen  section 
men  to  throw  up  a  strong  'barricade  across  the  mouth  of 
the  St.  Vrain  entrance,  while  a  switch-engine  under  con 
stant  steam  and  attached  to  a  long  string  of  flat-cars, 
stood  on  a  nearby  siding  ready  to  block  with  a  mass  of 
rock  and  steel  any  crossing  which  the  Short  Line  raiders 
might  attempt.  John  Charles  Rose  in  the  meantime  was 
carefully  inspecting  the  right-of-way  papers  which  gave 
the  Yellow-bellies  absolute  possession  of  the  St.  Vrain  en 
trance  to  the  great  Front  Range,  while  an  injunction  was 
already  drawn  up  to  be  granted  by  the  court  the  instant 
the  attack  was  made.  Poor  Wasps,  they  had  undertaken  a 
hopeless  task,  this  storming  of  the  St.  Vrain  pass. 

How  merrily  the  Spiders  talked  it  over  as  they  sat  in 
their  nests  in  little  old  New  York,  and  exchanged  aft'ec- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         455 

tionate  touches  with  their  stubby  crabbed  beaks  and  long 
feathery  legs.  Sweet  billionaire  love.  Tender,  touching, 
gentle  multi-millo  passion.  How  charming  this  rubbing 
together  of  noses  over  the  discomfiture  of  the  poor  strug 
gling  Wasps. 

Rose  finally  wired  the  long  expected  message: 

"  Within  a  week,  a  gang  of  fifty  laborers  with  a  band  of  armed 
leaders,  will  attempt  to  force  the  passage  of  the  St.  Vrain." 

Soon  the  arrival  of  a  carload  of  wheeled  scrapers  was 
announced  by  the  B.  &  M.  agent  at  Lion. 

"Well — are  we  ready!"  chuckled  the  Yellow-bellies 
to  themselves  as  they  strengthened  their  forces  with  a 
fresh  detachment  of  Pinkertons.  And,  sure  enough,  in 
full  confirmation  of  Johnson's  latest  bulletin,  the  Wasps 
appeared  upon  the  scene  with  a  big  gang  of  shovelers  and 
pick  wielders,  who  partially  unloaded  the  cars  of  material 
and  attempted  to  throw  up  a  grade  upon  the  banks  of  the 
St.  Vrain.. 

At  this  juncture  the  Pinkertons  challenged  them, 
flaunting  copies  of  Rose's  injunction  in  their  faces;  but 
the  armed  guards  of  the  Wasps  defied  them  impudently 
and  several  warning  shots  were  fired  on  both  sides. 
Finally  as  the  situation  became  more  acute  the  frightened 
laborers  scattered,  and  with  night  coming  on,  tfie  Short 
Line  crowd  retired,  temporarily  defeated. 

All  this  news  came  out  in  the  Denver  papers  with 
sensational  head-lines,  and  consternation  and  high  indig 
nation  reigned  among  the  citizens  of  the  city  and  state. 
The  defeat  of  their  pet  project  seemed  assured,  and  long 
editorials  in  the  leading  journals  denounced  the  iniqui 
tous  rule  of  the  Yellow-bellies.  Also  appeared  in  the 
press  various  interviews  with  the  defeated  Wasps.  David 
Moore  was  reported  as  looking  decidedly  glum;  Standish 
Brown  as  anxious  and  discouraged. 

Unknown  to  the  newspapers,  however,  John  Charles 
Rose  was  very  happy,  and  Gus  Johnson  was  fighting 


456         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

booze  at  a  great  rate,  rolling  in  cocktails  and  five-fing 
ered  decoctions  with  alarming  rapidity. 

The  fight  continued.  The  governor  threatened  to  call 
out  the  state  militia,  and  mass  meetings  of  Denver  citi 
zens  were  about  to  be  called,  when,  all  at  once  a  great 
event  happened.  An  entirely  new  situation, 


CHAPTER  VIII 

For  ages  the  Pass  had  endured  under  the  blue  vault 
of  heaven.  Ever  since  the  massive  crust  of  Mother  Earth 
had  suddenly  heaved,  the  high  peaks  had  popped  up  in 
wild  disorder;  and  the  vast  prehistoric  ocean  had  been 
thrust  back,  to  roll  for  other  untold  ages  over  that  re 
gion  which  is  now  known  as  the  Great  Plains;  that  bel 
lowing,  ponderous  ocean,  which  once  beat  and  tugged  at 
the  base  of  these  mighty  Rocky  Mountains,  as  at  present 
the  thundering  Pacific  rolls  its  surging  tide  over  the  wide 
sandy  bar  of  the  Columbia,  and  the  North  Sea  batters 
ceaselessly  upon  the  granite  buttresses  of  Norway. 

Only  a  laughing  seaward  rushing  creek  now  flows 
where  once  great  oceans  rolled. 

Indeed,  the  Creek  was  really  a  most  dainty  thing.  The 
combined  flow  of  innumerable  rivulets,  which  tumbled 
down  from  the  eternal  snow-fields  of  the  high  soaring 
James  and  the  twin  Arapahoes  thrust  some  13,000  feet 
upward  among  the  clouds. 

In  summer  time  the  Creek  rolls  and  tumbles  busily 
at  flood  tide  over  the  mossy  stones  and  among  the  frag 
rant  pines,  its  tiny  wavelets  reaching  up  and  lapping  the 
feet  of  the  columbines  and  gentians  which  grow  upon 
its  mist-sprayed  banks.  In  winter,  its  flow  gradually 
dwindles,  and  finally  as  the  deep  snows  set  in  and  the  mer 
cury  falls,  it  freezes,  almost  solid  for  dozens  of  wintry 
miles,  only  to  be  again  released  from  its  icy  sheath  by  the 
warm  spring  sun. 

Beside  the  Creek  lies  the  Trail.  A  very  dim  and  shad 
owy  Trail  now,  but,  nevertheless,  as  one  peers  up  into 
the  narrow  gorge  of  the  Creek  which  leads  up  to  the  foot 
of  the  James,  he  can  discern  even  yet,  a  dim,  ghostly, 
pine-needled,  aspen-leaved  pathway  which  winds  dimly 
among  the  leafy  aisles  of  the  forest. 

457 


458        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Upon  this  trail  once  walked  the  mighty  thunder-footed 
buffalo,  marching  hot  and  panting  from  the  scorching, 
burning  arroyos  of  the  Great  Plains,  thrusting  his 
parched,  dusty  muzzle  full  into  the  sparkling,  refreshing 
flood  of  the  creek  drinking  his  fill,  to  later  recline  in 
sweet  enjoyment  among  the  fragrant  pines  in  the  cool 
shadow  of  the  towering  crags.  Here  the  deer  and  the 
antelope  have  often  rushed  in  from  the  plains  to  escape 
the  hunter  and  the  wolf,  only  to  fall  prey  to  the  blood 
thirsty  cougar  in  some  dark  recess  of  the  gorge. 

Often,  as  some  gentle  doe  reaching  down  her  beautiful 
head  to  quaff  from  the  smiling  stream,  a  hideous  yel 
low  form  has  leaped  suddenly  upon  her  back.  Fearful 
claws  have  sank  deep  into  her  tender  flesh,  and  fierce 
ponderous  jaws  have  torn  at  her  graceful  throat.  Two 
days  later  perhaps,  the  only  remains  of  this  fleet  and 
graceful  courser  of  the  wilds,  was  a  skeleton,  picked  clean 
to  the  color  of  alabaster,  to  lay  still  and  silent  beside  the 
unheeding  stream,  and  slowly  succumb  to  decay  in  the 
deep  mould  of  the  forest  floor. 

From  the  high  castled  crags  of  the  Pass,  the  sun-defy 
ing  eagle  peers  down  into  the  green  embowered  depths 
of  this  stately  portal  of  the  Great  Hills.  Observing  a 
chipmunk  perhaps,  a  trout  flashing  its  exquisite  rainbow 
colors  in  the  clear  waters  of  the  stream,  or  a  rabbit,  nib 
bling  a  tuft  of  grass,  this  king  of  the  air  plunges  sud 
denly  downward  in  meteoric  flight,  and  returns  with  its 
victim  vainly  wriggling  in  the  clutch  of  the  steely  death 
talons.  Soaring  with  its  prey  to  the  eyrie  upon  the  dis 
tant  crag,  it  drops  it  among  the  ravenous  eaglets  to  gorge 
themselves,  until  soon  the  white  bones  of  the  victim  drop 
dismally  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

Here,  too,  in  the  somber  reaches  of  the  Pass,  the  plain's 
Indians,  the  Arapahoes  and  the  Cheyennes,  used  to  meet 
the  mountain  tribes  of  the  Utes  and  the  Blackfeet ;  often 
in  peace  and  parley  perhaps,  also  in  death.  Either  seek 
ing  shelter  from  the  death-dealing  arrow,  or  smiling  in 
the  keen  enjoyment  of  the  fragrant  whiff  of  the  calumet. 
Thus,  these  beetling  crags  have  resounded  for  ages  with 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         459 

the  clashing  arms  of  implacable  savagery,  and  this 
sparkling  stream  has  borne  upon  its  crystal  bosom  the  red 
gore  of  the  wounded  and  dying  Indian. 

Mute  evidences  of  these  tragedies  of  the  wilderness  can 
be  found  upon  the  banks  and  in  the  bed  and  shallows  of 
this  beautiful  mountain  stream.  Here  the  great  thigh 
bone  of  a  bison  is  half  embedded  in  the  sand,  beside  it, 
a  couple  of  flint  arrowheads  glisten  in  the  sunlight. 
Caught  between  two  boulders  is  a  pair  of  antlers  deeply 
honeycombed  with  age.  Bleaching  upon  a  jut  of  sand-bar 
is  the  jawbone  of  a  coyote,  and  nearby,  projecting  just 
above  the  sand  ripples,  is  the  white  bristling  spine  of  a 
trout. 

Standing  in  the  Pass  beside  the  stream,  its  granite,  pine 
niched,  towering  portals,  form  a  grand  cathedral  win 
dow.  Looking  toward  the  east  thru  this  gigantic 
opening  of  th*e  Great  Hills,  one  beholds  the  long,  narrow, 
green  ribboned  valley  of  the  Creek,  with  its  accompany 
ing  levels  of  irrigation  ditches  as  it  meanders  thru  the 
wide  rocky  flats  which  sweep  away  toward  the  plains 
from  the  lowest  tier  of  foothills;  while  just  above  the 
farthest  eastern  horizon,  gleam  the  brown  tumbling  bil 
lows  of  the  Great  Plains  themselves. 

Turning  to  the  west,  however,  an  almost  perpendicu 
lar  mile  or  more  of  shining  granite,  arises,  banked  at 
the  base  with  dark  masses  of  towering  pines  and  spruces ; 
and  crested,  just  where  the  Great  Hills  kiss  the  blue, 
with  a  pillow  of  eternal  snow. 

What  a  contrast! 

To  the  east,  the  wide  extended  flats.  To  the  west,  the 
awe  inspiring  heights.  On  the  one  hand,  the  white 
fences  of  civilization,  on  the  other,  the  howling  wilder 
ness. 

But  the  day  of  wild  barbaric  Nature  will  soon  end. 
For  thru  this  lofty  window  and  high  walled  pass,  the 
shriek  of  the  locomotive  will  soon  mingle  with  the  scream 
of  the  eagle;  and  the  "click-click,"  rail  staccato  of  the 
heavy  Pullman  wheels  will  mingle  with  the  sonorous 
gurgle  and  rush  of  the  seaward  flowing  stream. 


460        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

This,  then,  is  the  Pass  of  the  South  Boulder,  where 
the  Short  Line  is  to  enter  the  Great  Hills,  to  throw  its 
ribbon  of  steel  athwart  the  flanks  of  the  unconquered 
James,  and  roll  down  its  victorious  shining  twin  strands 
into  the  virgin  valley  of  the  peak-locked  Grand. 

A  short  distance  from  where  the  South  Boulder  leaves 
the  gorge  of  the  Pass  and  debouches  upon  the  plains,  is 
the  grass  and  weed  covered  terminal  of  an  old  defunct 
railroad  grade.  Years  ago  the  predecessors  of  the  Hawley 
spider  built  this  grade.  How  easily  the  loose  sandy  soil 
had  been  tossed  up  and  rounded  off  as  neat  as  a  garden 
terrace.  But  here  in  the  dizzy  shadow  of  the  Great  Hills, 
where  the  solid  granite  had  suddenly  and  ominously 
grated  upon  the  shovel  of  the  grader,  the  work  had  as 
suddenly  stopped,  and  thus  some  great  scheme  of  trans 
continental  mastery  had  ignominously  ended.  Here,  at 
the  entrance  of  the  South  Boulder  canon,  ^vith  the  iron 
rocked,  deep  buttressed,  13,000-foot  James  towering  defi 
antly  in  the  far  distance,  a  baffling  and  terrifying  wall 
of  gleaming  granite.  But  ever  true  to  the  never  failing 
clutch  of  the  rapacious  acquisitive  Yellow-bellies,  this 
grade  still  shows  on  the  map  of  one  of  their  webs,  and  is 
counted  on  to  hold  the  right-of-way  for  them  thru  the 
South  Boulder  Pass.  A  mere  ghost  line  of  possession, 
flung  timorously  out  to  hold  the  entrance  to  an  important 
portal  of  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

At  the  end  of  this  defunct  grade,  now  deeply  covered 
with  snow,  was  the  cabin  of  the  Pinkertons.  Two  of 
them.  Only  just  enough  to  maintain  the  watch.  Didn't 
expect  a  Short  Line  move  here,  with  all  those  extensive 
preparations  and  yesterday's  battle  on  the  Vrain.  The 
windows  of  their  rough  board  shack  faced  the  east,  and 
thru  them  from  time  to  time,  the  two  faithfully  watched 
the  valley  of  the  creek,  closely  scrutinizing  the  hill  coun 
try  toward  the  southeast,  beyond  which  rose  the  smoke  of 
the  Denver  smelters,  some  eighteen  miles  away.  With  a 
pair  of  field-glasses  the  heights  of  Westminster  and  the 
Jesuit  college  could  easily  be  observed,  between  which 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        461 

points  flows  Clear  Creek  close  to  its  junction  with  the 
Platte. 

Naturally,  the  Pinkertons  paid  very  little  attention  to 
the  western  view.  What  a  bleak  prospect?  Only  a  solid 
mass  of  mountain,  uninhabited,  dreary,  and  deeply  buried 
under  the  white  mantle  of  winter. 

Lulled  into  quiet  security,  especially  by  the  latest  news 
of  the  situation  phoned  them  from  headquarters  the  pre 
vious  day  as  to  the  St.  Vrain  episode,  they  leisurely 
watched  the  east  and  smoked  their  pipes. 

That  evening  as  they  cooked  their  supper,  the  solitary 
figure  of  a  man  stood  in  the  entrance  of  the  Pass,  and 
from  behind  a  low  boughed  spruce  closely  examined  their 
shack  with  a  pair  of  field-glasses.  While  further  back, 
hidden  in  the  recesses  of  the  canon,  was  a  dozen  or  more 
fellows  all  dressed  in  furs  and  walking  on  snowshoes, 
each  carrying  both  a  revolver  and  a  rifle  as  was  the  man 
in  advance,  evidently  their  leader;  and  who  was  none 
other  than  Bud  Snyder,  the  sheriff  of  Grand  County. 

The  sheriff  and  his  men  were  upon  no  official  errand 
this  time,  and  besides  they  had  no  business  in  this  vi 
cinity  officially,  as  they  were  far  outside  the  borders  of 
Grand  County.  They  were  simply  out  to  meet  the  Pin 
kertons  upon  an  equal  footing — gun  men  hired  to  fight 
the  battles  of  a  corporation.  But  with  this  marked  dif 
ference,  every  one  of  them  had  a  vital  interest  in  the 
building  of  the  Short  Line.  Either  a  mining  claim  on 
the  Vasquez,  perhaps,  certain  acres  of  Grand  River  bot 
tom,  or  town  lots  in  the  Springs.  Every  man  of  them 
could  be  trusted  to  put  up  a  desperate  fight  for  bringing 
Middle  Park  within  the  bounds  of  that  civilization  so 
long  denied  it  by  the  greed  and  avarice  of  the  Yellow- 
bellies. 

Presently  the  dusk  settled  down  heavily  after  the  pro* 
longed  winter  alpen  glow.  The  vast  shadow  of  the  James 
swallowed  up  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  creek,  and  the 
lights  of  distant  Denver,  in  company  with  the  stars, 
sparkled  out  from  the  far  southeast. 

About  eight  o'clock,  the  Pinkertons  were  startled  by  a 


462        THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

light  knock  on  the  door,  and  promptly  pulling  his  re 
volver,  the  elder  of  the  two  motioned  to  his  companion 
to  open  it.  As  the  latch  was  drawn  a  revolver  was  thrust 
in  the  Pinkerton's  face  and  he  was  suddenly  seized  and 
jerked  thru  the  opening,  while  a  dozen  weapons  were  lev 
elled  on  the  man  inside.  Seeing  that  successful  resist 
ance  was  impossible,  and  rightly  supposing  that  the  tele 
phone  line  had  been  cut,  the  elder  Pinkerton  threw  his 
weapon  upon  the  table  and  quietly  submitted. 

Ten  minutes  later  several  rockets  were  discharged  from 
near  the  shack  and  within  an  hour  the  creaking  wheels 
of  heavy  wagons  and  wheeled  scrapers  could  be  heard 
coming  up  the  frozen,  snow-covered  road.  By  daybreak 
a  camp  kitchen  had  been  installed,  serving  breakfast  to 
the  gang  of  graders  who  began  laying  a  temporary  track 
over  the  old  grade  as  the  preliminary  of  the  more  ex 
tended  operations  of  a  steam  shovel,  while  by  ten  o'clock 
that  morning,  the  contractor  who  had  made  the  successful 
bid  on  that  section  of  the  Short  Line,  was  watching  his 
men  toss  frozen  snow  and  dirt  into  the  dump  carts  and 
superintending  the  operations  of  the  wheeled  scrapers. 

Bud  Snyder  and  his  men  camped  in  the  vicinity  for 
several  days,  until  the  small  army  of  graders  was  in 
full  swing  and  in  undisputed  possession  of  the  Pass. 

Up  at  Lion  on  the  Vrain,  the  scene  of  the  feigned  attack, 
several  cars  of  steel,  ties,  etc.,  were  rebilled  by  the  rail 
road  agent  to  Marshall,  the  nearest  station  to  the  entrance 
of  the  South  Boulder  canon,  and  a  few  days  later  this 
material  was  laid  on  the  freshly  made  grade  which  the 
army  of  graders  had  thrown  up  in  the  Pass,  and  the 
laugh  was  on  the  Yellow-bellies  this  time. 


CHAPTER  IX 

The  day  of  the  battle  on  the  St.  Vrain,  Gus.  Johnson 
felt  miserable,  and  when  the  afternoon  papers  were  tossed 
into  the  office  by  the  carriers,  the  drunkard  read 
every  line  of  the  battle  account  with  morbid  interest. 
There  was  something  fascinating  about  this  peddling  of 
inner  employer  business,  and  seeing  that  nefarious  traf 
fic  result  in  his  discomfiture.  Johnson's  information  had 
been  acted  upon  to  the  very  letter  by  the  Spiders,  and 
the  result  was  glorious  to  the  drunkard's  feverish  eyes 
as  he  read  again  and  again  the  sensational  lines  of  'the 
papers.  But  later,  as  he  entered  the  private  office  of  his 
employer  and  laid  the  papers  upon  Standish's  desk,  and 
the  man  from  Plume  looked  up  at  him  in  smiling  ask 
ance,  the  drunkard  slunk  back  to  the  outer  office  deeply 
abashed.  The  kindly  smiling  glance  smote  him  to  the 
very  depths  of  his  existence,  and  returning  distractedly 
to  his  labors,  he  was  immediately  lost  in  the  terrible  play 
of  his  soul. 

Strange  to  relate,  a  new  and  unexpected  being  sprang 
upon  the  Sublime  Stage,  and  fought  desperately  with 
Drink  for  mastery.  A  being  the  drunkard  had  never 
known  before.  A  half  divine  form,  emanating  trans 
cendent  beams  of  light,  from  which  Drink  shrank  in 
terror. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  glorious  figure  of  light  crept  to 
Drink  and  to  the  drunkard's  inner  quick  soul.  Its  calm 
accusing  eyes  filling  him  with  unspeakable  anguish.  That 
terrifying  and  glorious  figure  of  light  was  the  awful  form 
of  REMORSE. 

Hidden  away  in  the  recesses  of  the  soul  is  this  divine 
child  of  Conscience.  It  may  be  secluded  for  years  and 
never  wake  to  action.  In  a  pure  soul  it  may  never  appear, 
save  in  a  procession  of  angels,  'but  in  the  soul  of  the  guilty 

463 


464        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

it  is  sure  to  spring  into  dreadful  and  terrifying  action. 

As  with  the  life  of  certain  plants,  Remorse  thrives  in 
an  atmosphere  of  filth  and  pollution,  and  when  a  certain 
state  of  fertilization  is  attained,  blossoms  and  bears  fruit. 
It  is  like  a  stainless  lily  springing  up  from  the  muck  and 
mire  of  a  malarial  swamp. 

Remorse  is  the  last  surviving  child  of  Conscience,  and 
if  it  fails  to  rid  the  soul  of  the  demon  brood  of  Sin,  that 
soul  has  plunged  forever  from  the  Heights  of  Truth, 
howling  into  the  yawning  abyss  of  Error.  Many  a  soul 
has  been  saved  upon  the  very  brink  by  this  divine  player, 
but  alas,  how  many  have  taken  the  dreadful  plunge  curs 
ing  and  blaspheming  the  hand  that  would  have  saved 
them. 

As  Standish  left  for  home  that  evening,  he  noticed 
that  Johnson  was  acting  strangely  and  was  seemingly 
under  a  peculiar  spell.  But  as  he  passed  out  of  the  of 
fice  he  addressed  the  drunkard  a  kindly  good  night  and 
patted  him  encouragingly  on  the  shoulder  as  he  cowered 
over  his  books. 

This  was  the  supreme  moment  of  that  divine  angel, 
Remorse,  for  after  the  door  closed  behind  his  employer, 
the  drunkard  shoved  his  books  into  the  vault,  closed  the 
door  and  turned  the  combination;  and  putting  on  his 
overcoat  and  hat  he  took  the  elevator  for  the  street  and 
was  soon  treading  the  thorofares  of  the  city  like  one  pos 
sessed.  He  did  not  go  home  that  night,  and  more  strange 
ly  still,  he  did  not  enter  a  saloon.  Remorse  had  tempo 
rarily  conquered  Drink,  and  lost  in  the  battle  the 
drunkard  aimlessly  wandered  the  streets. 

The  streets  of  east  Denver  present  a  peculiar  phenome 
non  to  the  visitor  who  may  chance  to  follow  one  of  them  to 
its  end.  Walking  briskly  forward  in  the  fresh,  brac 
ing  air,  interested  in  the  ever  changing  types  of  archi 
tecture  which  line  both  sides  of  the  thorofare  for  miles, 
he  suddenly  finds  himself  at  the  end  of  the  street,  a  curious 
unexpected  end. 

Westward,  stretches   the   broad   street   with  its    thou- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

sands  of  beautiful  homes  and  happy  children,  but  east 
ward  is  only  a  vast,  bleak,  and  sand-blowing  prairie.  No 
farms,  no  villages,  no  fences,  no  shady  country  lanes  or 
neat  farmhouses.  Nothing — save  the  bare,  raw  plains 
of  cacti  and  sage-brush  reaching  eastward  for  hundreds 
of  weary  miles  towards  the  sandhills  of  Kansas  and  Neb 
raska.  A  wide  dreary  waste  unbroken  by  the  plow.  A 
region  of  dry  watercourses  and  sandy  arroyos,  over 
which  forever  blows  the  wild  bleak  winds. 

Bleak  and  forbidding  as  is  this  region,  it  has  its  his 
tory. 

Here  is  a  battered  tin  can;  there  a  rust  eaten  wagon 
tire.  That  dark  spot  yonder  in  the  sand  was  made  by  the 
charred  embers  of  an  old  campfire,  carrying  one  back 
to  the  days  of  '49;  and  marking  the  site  of  some  gold 
seeker's  camp,  who  somehow  in  that  long  ago  managed 
to  reach  at  least  this  far  on  his  way  to  California — and 
exit — who  knows? 

Here  is  a  half  worn,  deeply  moulded  and  dried  up  boot, 
of  a  style  and  last  not  later  than  1865;  near  it  a  few 
bones  are  mingled  with  the  shriveled  tatters  of  a  leather 
belt,  the  corrosive  green  upon  the  withered  leather,  indic 
ative  of  its  contact  with  several  copper  rivets.  This  ex 
hibit  is  that  of  a  Pike's  Peaker,  who,  reaching  this  stage 
on  his  journey,  met  death  in  some  mysterious  manner, 
was  buried  in  a  shallow  sand  shifting  grave;  and  the 
winds  and  coyotes  have  brought  his  bones  from  under  the 
sands  to  glisten  gruesome  under  the  high  stars. 

Here  is  a  large  stack  of  old  tin  cans  and  broken  crock 
ery,  rusted  iron  and  wire,  together  with  a  mixture  of 
red,  yellow,  and  brown  ashes,  testifying  to  the  former 
presence  of  a  large  surveying  party's  camp,  whose  mem 
bers  were  probably  running  one  of  the  preliminaries  of 
the  first  Pacific  railroad. 

At  another  point  on  these  bleak  sands  are  indications 
of  a  pioneer's  brush  with  the  Indians.  Flint  and  steel 
arrowheads  mixed  with  several  brass  cartridge  shells  are 
here  visible ;  also  the  skeletons  of  several  horses  and  ponies 
protruding  from  the  sands  of  a  large  trench  grad- 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

ually  hollowed  out  by  the  winds ;  while  nearby  the  spokes 
and  broken  hub  of  an  old  wagon  wheel,  and  an  old  boot, 
high  heeled  and  brass  nailed,  sticks  out  from  a  clump 
of  half-dead  sage-brush. 

Yes.  And  probably  the  remains  of  several  humans  are 
buried  under  the  nearby  mounds  now  covered  by  various 
colonies  of  cacti. 

Scattered  over  nearly  every  square  mile  of  this  wide 
waste  of  drifting  sand,  cacti,  and  sage-brush,  are  the  mute 
evidences  of  the  perilous  life  of  our  old  friend,  Wild 
Woolly  West.  Doubtless  when  Uncle  Sam  finally  irri 
gates  this  region,  the  plow  of  the  rancher  will  turn  up 
many  other  objects  eloquent  of  the  old  virgin  West. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  of  the  same  night  that  Gus  John 
son,  first  lost  in  the  spell  of  Remorse,  was  walking  swiftly 
over  these  bleak  plains  east  of  Denver.  There  was  no 
light  in  the  sky  save  that  of  the  stars  and  a  distant 
white  glow  showing  dimly  over  the  edge  of  the  low 
hills  in  the  west,  marking  the  myriad  lights  of  the  distant 
city. 

By  midnight,  he  had  reached  in  his  aimless  wander 
ings,  the  brow  of  a  high  hill  from  which  he  could  see 
the  entire  glittering  expanse  of  Denver  marked  out  with 
its  thousands  of  electric  lights.  Directly  below  him  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  was  the  great  smelter,  Plant  B,  with 
its  cyclopean  battery  of  flaming  furnaces  belching  forth 
their  fearful  hell  fires.  The  great  stack  shrouded  in  mist 
rose  dimly  in  the  distance,  spitting  forth  its  interminable 
white  cloud  of  sulphurous  vapor  into  the  starry  sky. 

Still  under  the  spell  of  his  thoughts,  the  drunkard 
walked  slowly  down  the  long  hill,  and  for  a  long  time, 
apparently  fascinated  by  the  sight  of  the  flaming  fur 
naces,  stood  just  outside  the  fire  lines  of  Plant  B.  Then 
he  walked  boldly  out  upon  the  hard  slag  floor  of  the 
smelter,  to  where  the  furnace-men  were  running  the  slag 
from  the  furnaces  into  the  wheeled  pots,  and  pouring 
their  molten  contents  into  the  huge  settling  kettles. 

Standing  by  one  of  the  monster  settlers,  watching  the 


The    fearful    consuming    depths    of    the    monster    seemed    to 
fascinate  him  strangely." 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         467 

workmen  fill  it  with  the  fiery  spew  of  the  Great  Hills,  the 
fearful  consuming  depths  of  the  monster  seemed  to  fas 
cinate  him  strangely,  and  he  clutched  his  throat  spas 
modically  in  that  peculiar  manner  of  the  habitual  drunk 
ard. 

Drink  was  at  last  reviving  in  his  soul  at  the  sight  and 
warmth  of  these  awful  hell  fires  of  Plant  B.  And  rous 
ing  herself  in  a  supreme  effort  to  regain  control  of  the 
drunkard,  she  leaped  at  Remorse  with  all  the  implacable 
rage  of  a  Fury,  clutching  the  virgin's  tender  throat  with 
a  scream  of  triumph.  Slowly  but  surely  under  the  aw 
ful  throttling,  the  divine  light  of  the  last  child  of  Con 
science  was  dying  out.  Drink,  again  triumphant,  would 
after  slaying  her  victim  again  lead  the  drunkard  saloon- 
ward. 

Remorse  made  one  last  agonizing  struggle  for  mastery, 
but  in  vain;  and  as  her  virgin  form  straightened  out  in 
the  rigors  of  death,  Drink  gave  a  triumphant  glance  at 
her  poor  slave  Johnson. 

But  what  did  she  behold  that  struck  her  dumb  with 
terror;  that  made  her  relax  her  grip  upon  her  latest  vic 
tim,  and  caused  her  to  shrink  back  with  wild  screams  of 
rage  and  despair. 

It  was  the  vision  of  the  wailing  ghosts  of  her  former 
victims,  Decency,  Pride,  Love. 

Johnson  beheld  them  also.  A  fearful  sight  this,  upon 
the  stage  of  the  Theatre  Terrible. 

At  the  head  of  these  accusing  figures  was  another 
figure.  A  dancing,  voluptuous,  sinuous  creature  with 
charms  seductive  to  the  drunkard's  enraptured  gaze. 

It  was  the  fatal  soul  siren,  Suicide. 

Gliding  across  the  Sublime  Stage  with  a  soft  cry  of 
delight,  the  Salome  dancer  of  death  wrapped  her  all  too 
willing  victim  in  her  rosy  arms,  and  leaped  with  him  into 
the  grim  abyss. 

Gus.  Johnson,  the  degenerate  son  of  Adam,  plunged 
head  foremost  into  one  of  the  huge  settlers  with  its  hor 
rible  pottage  of  molten  slag. 

Such  was  the  dense,  specific  gravity  of  the  melted  rock, 


468        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

that  at  first  the  drunkard's  form  sank  only  to  the  arm 
pits,  his  form  skewering  frightfully  upon  the  surface 
for  a  brief  moment;  then,  evidently  from  the  fact  that 
his  body  was  absolutely  soaked  with  alcohol,  it  burst 
into  a  bluish  flame  full  in  the  sight  of  several  horror- 
stricken  smelter  men,  then  slowly  sank  simmering  and 
melting,  like  a  fly  on  a  red-hot  stove,  into  the  flaming, 
glowing  mass  with  a  last  sickening  hiss. 

The  Theatre  Terrible  had  raised  and  dropped  its  last 
curtain  for  poor  Johnson. 

No  trace  of  him  remained.  Not  a  button.  Not  a 
bone.  Inside  of  five  minutes  the  contents  of  settler  No. 
3  went  hissing  over  the  slag  dump,  just  as  tho  it  did 
not  hold  within  its  molten  brew,  the  vapor  of  a  suicide. 

Perhaps  no  suicide  ever  succeeded  in  annihilating  him 
self  more  completely  than  did  Gus.  Johnson.  For  not 
a  vestige  of  clothing,  form,  or  substance  of  him  remained. 
An  almost  instantaneous  reduction.  Ashes  to  ashes,  and 
an  unhappy  soul  lost  in  vapor. 

After  a  long  night  of  searching  and  suspense  with 
absolutely  no  clew  to  her  husband's  whereabuts,  Mrs. 
Johnson  perused  the  morning  papers  eagerly,  and  no 
ticed  particularly  the  thrilling  account  of  two  smelter  men 
who  had  witnesed  the  fearful  leap  of  a  suicide  into  settler 
No.  3  at  Plant  B.  Standish  also  read  the  account,  and  after 
a  careful  investigation  and  interviews  with  the  witnesses 
of  the  affair  at  the  smelter,  they  agreed  that  in  all 
likelihood  the  victim  was  her  husband. 

Mrs.  Johnson  still  continues  to  enjoy  her  monthly 
check  from  Standish,  altho  she  found  steady  and  re 
munerative  employment  as  a  seamstress.  Standish 
steadfastly  refused  her  importunities  to  cease  the  sending 
of  the  checks,  and  so  at  last  accounts  she  was  saving  the 
money  to  help  pay  for  Harry's  education. 

Standish  never  knew  of  the  perfidious  relations  which 
existed  between  Johnson  and  John  Charles  Rose,  and  as 
for  the  latter  individual,  he  never  fully  recovered  his 
prestige  with  the  New  York  crowd,  following  the  loss 
of  the  South  Boulder  Pass. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  dirt  was  flying  on  the  Short  Line,  and  many  miles 
of  it  had  been  graded  on  the  west  slope  of  the  Divide 
in  Middle  Park  by  the  spring  of  1903,  and  was 
ready  for  track-laying  from  the  foot  of  the  James  into 
the  Springs,  as  soon  as  the  road  from  the  eastern  slope 
was  brought  to  a  connection  and  supplies  could  be  brought 
up;  in  consequence  Standish  was  happy  and  satisfied 
with  the  progress  of  the  undertaking. 

Great  days  these  for  Bud  Snyder  and  the  boys.  The 
boom  was  on.  The  dream  of  half  a  century  had  become 
a  reality.  Town  lots  in  the  Springs  were  way  up,  for  with 
its  hot  springs  and  salubrious  climate  there  was  great 
hope  that  it  would  become  an  important  resort. 

The  track-laying  gang  on  the  east  slope  were  well  up 
into  the  Pass  by  this  time.  A  solid  substantial  road  now 
reached  from  Denver  far  into  the  huge  portal  of  the  Great 
Hills,  laid  with  eighty-pound  steel,  and  every  culvert 
and  bridge  of  steel  and  concrete  construction. 

Theodore  Dodge  and  Colorado  Steel  furnished!  the 
rails  and  structural  steel,  and  broken  slag  from  Plant 
B,  an  ideal  material  for  the  purpose,  was  used  to  ballast 
the  road  from  the  city  to  the  foothills. 

The  workmen  were  having  a  tough  time  of  it  in  the 
Pass.  Desperately  rugged  country.  Every  mile  of  road 
costing  a  fortune.  The  roadbed  for  a  considerable  dis 
tance  was  located  far  above  the  level  of  the  creek,  cross 
ing  and  recrossing  the  stream  several  times,  and  in  the 
supreme  effort  for  grade,  coiling  itself  up  in  the  narrow 
denies  of  the  canon  like  a  great  boa-constrictor,  with  its 
high  reared  head  resting  on  the  crest  at  Rollins  Pass, 
at  an  altitude  of  11,660  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea, 
where  it  crossed  the  Continental  Divide  to  descend  the  Pa 
cific  Slope. 

The  many  contractors  were  making  a  grand  fight  of  it, 

469 


470        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

however,  clearing  the  right-of-way  of  timber;  biting  off 
a  huge  granite  ledge  here ;  making  a  dizzy  fill  there ;  and 
driving  short  tunnels  thru  the  numerous  sharp  pro 
jecting  spurs  of  the  mountains.  Bridge  men,  too,  were 
dropping  great  spans  of  steel  across  the  deep  ravines  and 
piling  up  lofty  trestles  over  the  wide  gulches.  While 
at  the  very  last  station,  far  up  on  a  giant  buttress  of  the 
snow-capped  James,  a  sturdy  gang  of  rock  men  were 
blasting  a  tunnel  thru  the  peak  itself. 

Two  and  one  half  miles  of  solid  granite  faced  these 
stout  red-shirted  fellows,  but  when  completed,  the  trains 
of  the  Short  Line  would  roll  thru  the  long  bore  from  the 
Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  slope.  This  tunnel  was  designed 
with  an  almost  level  grade  and  perfectly  straight  align 
ment;  and  when  finished,  it  was  expected  that  one  could 
stand  at  the  east  portal  on  a  sunny  day  and  discern  a 
faint  speck  of  daylight  shining  in  at  the  west  portal  of 
the  bore. 

Standish  had  many  other  things  to  rejoice  over  this 
same  gladsome  spring.  He  had  delivered  an  ultimatum 
to  the  C.  C.  &  U.  Ry.  officials,  regarding  a  certain  pros 
pective  branch  line  which  he  intended  to  build  into  the 
Clear  Creek  country  and  on  to  Plume,  to  connect  with  the 
main  line  of  the  Short  Line  at  a  point  a  few  miles 
east  of  the  James.  Startled  by  the  prospect  of  this  near 
competition,  the  C.  C.  &  U.  officials  proposed  to  haul 
the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds,  and  all  other  traffic  of  the 
region  at  the  very  lowest  figures  consistent  with  honest 
profit;  a  proposition  Standish  had  accordingly  accepted, 
signing  up  an  agreement  to  that  effect  and  abandoning 
his  branch  line  project  until  such  time  as  the  C.  C.  &  U. 
might  choose  to  again  raise  its  rates. 

David  Moore  all  this  time  was  having  a  great  hide-and- 
seek  game  with  the  Yellow-bellies. 

James  Equitable  Hide,  the  president  of  the  great  New 
York  assurance  society  which  owned  the  nine-storied 
building  of  which  the  National  First  occupied  the  cor 
ner  street  floor,  having  come  from  New  York  on  pur 
pose  to  interview  uncle  Davy  about  this  Short  Line  matter. 

"Confound  this  independent  Colorado  and  Montana 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         471 

outfit  anyhow,"  thought  Jimmy  as  he  left  New  York, 
"Here  we  had  everything  fixed  up  all  right  in  Western 
railroad  affairs.  Jimmy  Hill,  Eddie  Harriman,  Georgie 
Gould,  Harry  Moore,  and  the  rest  of  us  had  it  all  framed 
up,  arid  now  those  impudent  cusses  of  the  Great  Divide  are 
building  railroads  of  their  own." 

Three  days  later  Jimmy  Hide  called  on  uncle  Davy 
in  Denver,  having  made  up  his  mind  not  to  mince  mat 
ters  one  bit,  the  New  York  Yellow-bellies  having 
insisted  that  he  play  his  hand  to  the  limit. 

The  great  assurance  society  of  which  Jimmy  was  the 
president  and  chief  sport,  owned  in  the  neighborhood  of 
twenty-five  millions  of  Yellow-belly  stocks  and  bonds; 
and  Jimmy  fancied  that  a  healthy,  active,  competitive 
line  from  Denver  to  Salt  Lake  would  cut  deeply  into  the 
profits  of  these  investments.  Besides,  Jmmy's  pious 
straight-laced  widow  and  orphan  protective  institution, 
owned  $100,000.00  worth  of  the  stock  of  National  First, 
and  Jimmy  felt  that  he  had  a  perfect  right  to  call  uncle 
Davy  pretty  hard  with  all  this  backing,  especially  as  he 
recalled  the  fact  that  the  gently  protecting,  tenderly  shield 
ing  angel  of  the  widows  and  orphans,  the  trade  graft 
mark  and  chief  sucker  gatherer  of  the  Society,  would 
never  stand  for  the  sacred  banqueting  funds  of  the  So 
ciety  to  be  placed  in  the  slightest  jeopardy. 

He  found  uncle  Davy  clean  and  fresh  shaven  and  in 
an  excellent  humor  from  his  morning  romp  with  little 
Peter.  After  cordially  shaking  hands  Jimmy  seated  him 
self,  and  lighting  a  cigarette,  said,  thru  the  cloud  of 
smoke,  and  with  that  gravely  responsible  air  of  one  who 
has  the  cares  of  thousands  of  helpless  orphans  and  widows 
upon  his  shoulders: 

"Davy,  do  you  know  that  you  folks  have  got  to  cut 
out  this  Short  Line  project.  I  tell  you  it  won't  do.  You 
certainly  must  know  as  a  director  and  a  large  policy 
holder  in  our  Society,  that  it  owns  in  the  neighborhood 
of  twenty-five  millions  of  the  stocks  and  bonds  of  West 
ern  railroads,  and  how  can  you  reconcile  that  investment 
with  the  introduction  of  another  competing  line  from 
Denver  to  Salt  Lake,  when  there  are  already  two  good 


472        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

lines  in  the  territory?  Won't  do  I  say,  Davy,  the  interests 
of  the  Society  won't  stand  for  it.  Er-r,  we'll  let  you  go 
ahead  and  build  the  road  into  the  Springs,  and  let  you 
make  a  local  road  of  it;  but  we  won't  let  you  invade  the 
Salt  Lake  territory,  you  might  as  well  make  up  your 
mind  to  that." 

Now  David  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  ir 
ruption  of  this  fast  and  furious  cigarette  smoke-blowing 
and  dictatorial  young  Gothamite,  for  he  replied  coolly  as 
he  himself  joined  the  sm/oke  fest  by  lighting  a  Havana. 

"  Jimmy,  the  Salt  Lake  Short  Line  is  going  to  be  built 
right  smack  thru  from  the  union  depot  in  Denver  to  the 
union  depot  in  Salt  Lake  City,  just  as  sure  as  you  are 
sitting  in  that  chair.  And  you  can  tell  the  lads  back 
home  that  our  people  mean  business  and  that  we're 
going  to  hold  the  line  of  the  Rockies  until  they  are 
ready  to  come  in  and  play  fair." 

"  Don't  you  ever  doubt  for  a  moment,  Jim,"  he  con 
tinued  earnestly,  pointing  to  a  large  map  of  Colorado, 
Wyoming,  and  Utah,  which  hung  on  the  wall  over  his 
desk,  "that  just  as  long  as  we  can  raise  a  dollar  that  we're 
going  to  let  this  great  undeveloped  streak  of  Colorado, 
Wyoming,  and  Utah,  wait  any  longer  for  a  railroad.  Do 
you  realize,  my  dear  boy,  that  the  territory  I  am  speaking 
of,  has  an  area  of  nearly  sixty  thousand  square  miles, 
or  as  large  as  the  whole  state  of  New  York  with  New 
Jersey  thrown  in,  and  nearly  every  mile  of  which  will  pro 
duce  something  for  a  railroad  to  carry?  Now  listen, 
Jimmy,  I  don't  care  a  darn  who  owns  the  road  after  I 
build  it,  ifs  the  building  of  the  road  that  I  care  for,  see? 
Why,  my  dear  boy,  either  Mr.  Gould,  Mr.  Harriman,  or 
Mr.  Hill  would  be  tickled  to  death  to  get  hold  of  it  after 
it's  done.  In  fact,  it's  almost  a  mortal  cinch  that  they 
will,  and  they  ought  to  be  mighty  darn  glad  that  uncle 
Davy's  taken  the  trouble  to  build  it.  As  for  the  So 
ciety  and  you,  Jimmy,  if  you  know  a  good  thing  when 
you  see  it,  I'll  let  you  in  on  the  deal  for  old  acquaintance 
sake.  Here — look  this  over,"  he  added,  handing  him 
the  original  subscription  list  of  the  Short  Line's  stock 
and  bond  issue,  some  three  millions  of  which  had  already 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        473 

been  subscribed  by  some  of  the  most  substantial  men  of 
Colorado,  Boston,  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  and  Berlin. 

"Now,  Jimmy,"  continued  David  blandly,  "I've  got 
just  a  million's  worth  of  these  bonds  picked  out  for  you, 
your  friends,  and  the  Society;  and  with  them  I  will  pre 
sent  you  with  stock  of  the  Denver,  Northwestern,  and 
Salt  Lake,  to  the  amount  of  $250,000.00  or  just  twenty- 
five  per  cent  of  the  face  value  of  the  bonds,  a  generous 
bonus  which  I  have  long  laid  asigle  for  you  and  your 
friends.  This  is  a  fine  proposition  for  you,  Jimmy,  for 
the  bonds  are  as  good  as  gold,  and  the  stock  is  pure 
cream.  The  Short  Line  is  bound  to  make  heavy  profits 
where  the  Rio  Grande  and  Union  Pacific  can't  pay  the 
interest  on  their  bonds  so  far  as  thru  traffic  is  concerned, 
and  as  for  local  traffic,  that  was  assured  before  we  laid 
a  rail.  But  then,  the  issue  will  never  get  that  far,  Jimmy, 
for  I'm  just  as  certain  as  I  am  that  I'm  building  the  road, 
that  the  gang  will  own  the  road  by  the  time  it's  built.  For, 
as  I  said  before,  getting  it  built,  is  the  thing  with  me. 
Putting  this  great  undeveloped  territory  in  touch  with  the 
world.  You  can  explain  all  this  to  the  gang  when  you  get 
back  home,  and  it's  dollars  to  cents,  Jimmy,  that  they'll 
pat  you  on  the  back  and  say,  'Well  done.'  Why,  Jimmy, 
we've  got  a  world-beater  in  this  proposition,  and  it's  up 
to  you  now  as  to  whether  you  take  the  goods  or  not. 
Come — what  do  you  say?"  he  added  with  rare  good 
humor,  his  eyes  twinkling  merrily. 

"  Er-r,  well,  blamed  if  I  don't  take  the  stuff,  Dave," 
said  James  after  a  short  pause,  "But  I  say,  old  boy,  you'll 
have  to  coach  me  up  some  as  to  what  to  say  to  the  gang 
when  I  get  back,  for  I  know  they'll  kick  like  the  devil." 

"All  bosh,  Jimmy,  you  know  they're  bluffers  from  way 
back,  and  they  never  have  fooled  uncle  Davy  and  never 
will.  Just — just  tell  'em,  uncle  Davy's  building  a  short 
line  where  it's  darned  badly  needed  and  they  can  have  it 
when  it's  done  if  they're  going  to  get  sore  about  it.  That's 
all  there  is  to  it,  Jimmy,  come,  let's  go  to  lunch." 


CHAPTER    XI 

There  were  quite  a  number  of  famous  visitors  to  the 
United  States  in  the  fall  of  1902. 

The  sudden  victorious  sweep  of  American  arms  in  the 
Spanish  war  and  the  great  American  commercial  invasions 
of  1900-01,  had  shaken  the  Old  World  to  its  very  social 
and  commercial  foundations. 

"What  manner  of  people  are  these  impudent,  form- 
soorning,  invention-breeding,  New  Continentalists  ?"  was 
Asia  and  Europe's  insistent  query. 

"We  must  send  our  most  intelligent  observers  over  to 
this  marvelous,  steadily  paunch-growing  Uncle  Sam, 
'and  learn  the  rare  secret  of  his  unbounded  prosperity." 

So  one  by  one  they  came,  these  fierce  mustachios  and 
huge  flowing  red  beards  of  marveling  Europe  and  Asia. 

The  first  to  attract  attention  being  that  illustrious  cit 
izen  of  France,  Monsieur  Alphonso  D'Bloodsausage,  who 
after  spending  six  months  in  the  States,  returned  to  the 
Land  of  the  Lilies  to  whisper  triumphantly  in  the  ear 
of  the  deep  secret  minister: 

"  I  know— I  know,  my  dear  Gaston.  NEWSPAPERS ! 
That  is  it.  Wronderful  sheets  made  up  by  specialists  of 
every  kind  and  description,  and  every  American  reads 
them  religiously.  In  the  morning  he  reads.  By  noon  he 
is  thinking  seriously.  By  night  he  has  made  up  his 
mind,  and  the  next  day  he  does.  Ah !  Yes,  My  dear  Gaston. 
The  newspapers,  that  is  the  secret  of  zee  Uncle  Sam's  beeg 
fat  stomach." 

Lord  Chopface  Oxheart  of  England  also  spent  three 
months  in  the  States,  traveling  incognito  with  a  small 
party  of  friends.  Not  long  after  his  return  he  had  an 
audience  with  the  king.  In  reply  to  his  Majesty's  in 
quiries  as  to  the  cause  of  Uncle  Sam's  remarkable  pros 
perity,  he  said: 

"MANUFACTURES,    your    Majesty,    manufactures. 

475 


476        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Manufacturing  plants  springing  up  all  over  the  whole 
United  States.  Millions  readily  invested  in  one  single  in 
dustry.  Matches  all  made  by  one  gigantic  concern. 
Sugar,  biscuit,  leather,  oil,  and  many  other  industries, 
each  merged  into  a  great  combine  of  its  own,  capable 
thru  a  wonderful  economic  arrangement,  of  crushing 
out  competition  in  its  particular  line  in  almost  any  part 
of  the  world.  Quite  wonderful,  your  Majesty,  these 
clever  Yankee  cousins  of  ours  have  achieved  giant  com 
binations,  compared  to  which  our  great  Hudson  Bay  and 
East  Indian  companies  are  mere  babes." 

A  Russian  grand  duke  paid  the  United  States  a  visit  this 
same  notable  season.  When  he  returned  to  St.  Peters 
burg  and  reported  to  the  Illustrious  Czar  of  all  the  Rus- 
sias,  he  imparted  to  his  Majesty  with  great  positiveness, 
his  version  of  this  wonderful  baffling  secret  of  Uncle  Sam's 
paunch-growing. 

"PUBLIC  SCHOOLS,  your  Sacred  Supremenfess.  Won 
derful!  A  schoolhouse  in  almost  every  township  of  the 
whole  United  States." 

But  Oh!  Naughty,  naughty  grand  duke.  Did  he  tell 
his  sire  of  his  cutups  with  me  pretty  chorus  ladies 
of  the  Dearman  theatre  in  Chicago,  or  his  interesting 
sessions  with  the  Hold-me-tight-Love-me-much  Opera 
girls  in  dizzy  Gotham?  Ah!  The  noble  grand  duke 
nearly  abdicated  his  Russian  high  mightiness  in  those 
two  charming  soirees.  But  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well, 
for  poor  grand  duke  must  soon  depart  for  the  wars;  and 
perhaps  too,  for  the  arms  of  the  Geisha  girls. 

Asia  also  sent  blooded  and  titled  representatives  to  the 
States  in  1902.  One  in  the  person  of  the  crown  prince 
of  Siam,  who  sailed  for  home  with  the  full  and  certain 
conviction,  that  Uncle  Sam's  portliness  was  caused  by  his 
vast  network  of  RAILROADS. 

Siamese  crown  prince  like  Russian  grand  duke  also 
had  several  neat  bouts  with  American  chorus  girls.  And 
rumor  says,  "That  each  and  every  one  of  the  feminine 
gender  of  the  royal  herd  of  elephants  now  wear  garters, 
of  a  style  decidedly  Americanesque." 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        477 

A  representative  of  the  Sultan  slipped  thru  the  States 
from  Boston  to  San  Francisco.  Returning  to  the  Bos 
porus,  he  was  pleased  to  assure  his  Majesty,  that  the  great 
secret  of  American  prosperity  was  PATENTS. 

"New  guns,  locomotives,  telegraph  and  telephone  sys 
tems.  Typesetting  machines  that  do  everything  but 
talk.  Harvesting  machines,  that  cut  the  waving  crop  from 
the  stubble  and  turn  the  threshed  grain  into  satks  ready 
for  market  and  the  straw  in  shapely  stacks  ready  for 
feeding.  Patents,  your  Royal  Highness.  The  wonderful 
inventions  of  these  still  more  wonderful  Yankees." 

Thus  our  various  Asiatic  and  European  cousins  gave 
their  different  interpretations  of  America's  sudden  great 
ness.  While  they  spoke  the  truth  somewhat,  they  did  not 
tell  it  all. 

Newspapers,  manufactures,  public  schools,  railroads, 
patents? 

Very  good,  foreign  inspectors  of  the  great  Red,  White 
and  Blue  nation. 

But  there  is  something  still  more  wonderful  back  of  all 
these  lesser  wonders.  Indeed!  A  very  wonderful  thing, 
yet  as  old  as  man  himself,  and  which  is  largely  summed 
up  in  the  masterful  ascendancy  of  these  goodly  United 
States  of  America  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1902. 

Yes,  back  of  all  these  most  worthy  characteristics  of 
healthfully  growing  America,  is  a  far  greater  thing. 

The  vital  thing. 

It  is  the  FIRST  PLAYER  of  the  THEATRE  TER 
RIBLE. 

The  supreme  Player  of  the  American  National  Soul. 

The  versatile  master  of  the  National  Stage,  who  has  of 
late  displayed  himself  in  a  vast  and  impressive  reper 
toire  of  National  soul  dramas. 

This  first  and  most  Illustrious  Player  of  the  Sublime 
Stage  is  GENIUS. 

Genius,  the  divine,  the  infinite  inspirer,  fruit  producer 
and  gatherer  of  America's  Great  National  Soul. 

Genius  is  the  great  builder.  The  undaunted  daring 
architect;  the  marvelous  constructionist. 


478        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Genius,  the  master  workman.     The  supreme  DOER. 

Yes,  but  what  is  back  of  Genius? 

THOUGHT. 

Yes,  back  of  Genius  is  Thought. 

But  what  is  back  of  Thought? 

The  INFINITE. 

Yes,  but  Thought  and  Genius  are  slowly  conquering  the 
Infinite. 

Correct,  and  then  what? 

What  lies  back  of  the  Infinite? 

Softly,  gentle  reader. 

Speak  the  sacred  name  most  contritely,  with  holiest 
reverence. 

Gaze  upward  as  the  sacred  name  is  breathed.  Invoke 
the  stars  to  softly  witness  and  be  still  in  the  bosom  of  sol 
itude.  For  back  of  the  Infinite,  is  the  GREAT  ETER 
NAL  GOD! 

Naught  else. 

Thought  finite.    Thought  infinite. 

And  back  of  thought  Infinite,  is  the  divine  presence 
of  the  Almighty,  Gracious,  FATHER. 

Some  glorious  pasan-singing  day  as  Genius  storms  the 
last  battlement  of  the  awful  Infinite,  he  will  suddenly  be 
hold  within  the  gates,  the  more  awful,  supremely  awful 
and  terrible  presence  of  the  Great  Immaculate  Father,  who 
has  waited  for  all  the  ages,  to  smile  upon  and  embrace  that 
first  of  his  children  whose  genius  has  penetrated  the  In 
finite  and  on  into  His  all-embracing  celestial  HEART. 

This  is  America's  great  secret,  beloved  African,  Asiatic, 
and  European  brethren.  Its  great  national  soul,  nour 
ished  by  the  well  springs  of  all  humanity,  soars  swift 
upon  the  wings  of  Time. 

Ah !  Genius,  heaven  endowed,  creation-breathing  spirit, 
mount  thy  chariot  and  scourge  these  hardy  Mericans  to 
still  greater  deeds,  swifter,  truer  progress. 

Fill  this  great  teeming  multitude  of  states  with  thy 
loud  inspiring  trumpetings. 

Charge  with  demon  fury  the  battlements  of  the  Great 
Unknown,  to  rend  the  mystin  veil  and  find  the  Holy 
Grail. 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        479 

Split  the  rocks  of  Ignorance  with  thy  mighty  blows, 
and  toss  sweet  thoughts  abroad  to  scent  the  breeze  with 
Hope. 

Vindicate  and  celebrate  our  free  Democracy.  Prov 
ing  it  fruitful  soil,  producing  the  much  and  most  yearned 
for  fruit  that  the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  desires — SOULS. 
Sweet  souls.  That  blessed  crop  for  which  the  world  is 
only  a  field,  and  the  universe  itself  a  mere  plantation. 

On  Genius,  prove  us  roaring,  thundering,  grinding 
giants  of  Power ;  and  yet,  sweet  tender  maids  of  Love. 

Prove  us  resistless,  shattering  blow-strikers  of  devastat 
ing,  surging  War ;  and  yet,  soft,  dove-like  singers  of  Peace, 
piping  with  the  morn-bedewed  larks,  glory  and  repose. 

Prove  us  eaters  of  Fire,  swallowing  and  belching  forth 
red,  lurid  flames  of  Destruction,  gnawing  down  the  crags 
and  spewing  the  mountains;  and,  too,  filled  with 
powers  and  forces  universal  as  is  our  Immortal  Sire,  let 
us  stretch  o'er  the  hot  land  as  a  sun-kissed  cloud,  and 
reaching  down,  lave  it  with  shining  dews. 

We  Mericans  must  endeavor,  must  pray,  must  fast, 
must  walk  in  strict  humility.  Must,  as  children  of  the 
Blessed  One,  holding  in  our  hands  both  the  lightning  and 
the  palm,  entreat  the  Most  High  God  to  reveal  that  Des 
tiny,  He  decreed  in  the  Beginning  and  which  we  must 
faithfully  fulfill  unto  the  End. 

Genius  cultivates,  produces  fruit,  supremely  vindicates 
those  powers  universal  which  kins  man  with  the  Uni 
versal  Sire. 

Sloth  ridicules,  enervates,  dry-rots  the  life-budding  bulb 
of  Genius. 

No  man  can  idly  sit  and  refuse  to  heed  the  master  of 
his  soul.  That  passionate,  bursting,  dynamic  life  force  of 
his  true,  his  inner  nature,  which  demands  outward  ex 
pression.  That  dark,  yet  satiny  shining,  life-bursting 
bulb  of  Genius,  which  when  deep  rooted  in  the  soul, 
endeavors  to  thrust  its  green  sprouts  vigorously  upward 
and  out  into  the  world,  to  bud  and  blossom,  to  grow  a 
wondrous  flower.  To  nobly  die  at  last,  exalted  in  the 
sight  of  worshipping  man,  and  gloriously  vindicating 
the  Great  Father  who  gave  it  life. 


480        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Genius,  the  great  DOER. 

We  are  astonished  at  what  Lord  Bacon  contemplated. 
But  we  are  thrilled  by  what  Shakespeare  actually  DID. 

Victor  Hugo  dreamed  of  hundreds  of  masterpieces, 
but  he  is  only  known  to  us  by  the  works  he  actually 
materialized. 

The  greatest  problem  of  life  which  confronts  the  in 
dividual,  is  to  discover,  Genius;  the  universal,  the  god 
element  within  his  soul;  and  to  develop  that  element  to 
its  greatest  perfection,  to  give  it  the  highest  expression. 
To  cultivate  the  tree,  and  grow  upon  it  the  finest  fruit. 

Genius,  the  HEALTH  BEARER. 

That  element  of  mind  which  bears  the  finest  fruit 
within  the  grandest  and  most  healthful  soul. 

Socrates,  Diocletian,  Goethe,  Hugo,  Spencer,  Bryant. 
Ripe,  magnificent,  hoary  old  age  of  great  soul-fruit  pro 
ducers. 

Genius,  the  MASTER  SANITY. 

Confucius,  Elijah,  Jesus  Christ,  Dante  Alighiere, 
Michaelangelo  Buonarroti,  Spinoza,  Swedenborg;  all 
sane,  undaunted  soul-fruit  producers,  treading  unmoved 
among  dribbling  head-pointing  generations  declaring 
them  mad. 

Genius,  the  First  and  Most  Illustrious  Player  of  the 
Theatre  Terrible,  sings  his  song,  carves  his  statue,  rears 
his  temple,  founds  his  empire;  and  having  garnered  the 
fruit,  stretches  out  upon  the  greensward,  the  white  cover 
let,  the  yellow  sands,  in  the  still  hush  of  death.  And  as 
his  red  blood  gushes  forth  he  looks  up  at  his  Maker  and 
smiles. 

By  this  glorious  fruit  growing  he  is  nobly  vindicated. 
Immortality  flowers  his  tomb.  His  work  is  done.  The 
God  spirit  that  was  in  him  is  vindicated.  That  spirit 
universal,  which  alone  has  added  to  human  progress, 
Genius,  the  God  spirit  in  man;  for  human  progress  is 
ever  veered  toward  its  Creator,  and  Life  is  but  the  road 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        481 

which  the  creature  travels  in  its  endeavor  to  reach  and 
bless  and  kiss  the  hand  that  gave  it  existence. 

Ah!  Genius,  the  grave  may  close  over  your  crumbling 
clay,  but  you  have  gone  on  singing  under  the  arches  of 
the  stars. 

Like  the  great  martyr  of  Kansas  and  Harper's  Ferry, 
your  soul  goes  marching  on. 

"  John  Brown's  body  lies  a  mould'ring  in  the  grave, 
But  his  soul  goes  marching  on." 

Oh,  Thou,  Most  Gracious  Heavenly  Father. 
Hear  the  vast  chorus  of  America's  all-the-world  children 
singing  the  glorious  refrain. 

"  Glory,  glory  Hallelujah,  as  we  go  marching  on." 

Genius,  the  VINDICATOR! 

The  one  everlasting  assurance  to  man  that  God  hath 
kissed  his  soul,  and  bid  him  rise  on  wings  of  glory. 

Genius,,  with  whom,  staggering,  suffering,  mocked  and 
bleeding  Man  can  walk  serenely  on  alone  and  unfalter 
ing,  when  all  the  world's  against. 

Genius,  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  God's  most  glor 
ious  creature,  MAN!  !  ! 


CHAPTER  XII 

Solomon  Guggenhone  was  at  the  Brown  Palace  again. 
With  him  was  the  son  of  an  ex-secretary  of  the  United 
States  Navy,  Percival  Leonidas  Whitless,  if  you  please,  one 
of  Gotham's  "400,"  and  of  a  certain  notoriety  as  the 
owner  of  a  great  stud  of  race-horses,  for  the  maintenance 
of  which  Solly  was  to  show  him  where  to  invest  some 
two  millions  of  Papa  Whitless'  money. 

Also  came  Horace  Beanpole  Smith,  another  of  the 
"400"  New  York  solitaires.  This  young  hopeful  was 
noted  for  his  wonderful  line  of  fancy  vests,  he  employed 
a  valet  just  to  keep  a  safe  grip  on  this  notoriety.  He  had 
already  put  something  like  a  million  of  his  papa's  money 
into  the  stock  of  American  Smelter,  and  the  investment 
having  paid  a  good  dividend,  it  would  enable  him  to  keep 
up  this  fancy  vest  expenditure  indefinitely.  Smithy,  too, 
was  preparing  himself  to  fall  under  the  persuasive  powers 
of  Solly,  to  invest  another  million  or  so  of  papa's  coin  in 
the  Guggenhone  Ex-sport-stay-tion  Company,  a  concern 
recently  organized  by  these  smelter  kings  apparently  for 
the  express  purpose  of  giving  these  young  and  tender  buds 
of  the  "400,"  a  chance  to  exercise  and  try  out  a  few  of 
their  papa's  millions. 

My!  What  bully  exercise  this  new  scheme  proposed 
to  give  a  snorting  prancing  million  dollars. 

To  throw  it  into  a  great  silver  mine  down  in  old  Mexico, 
run  a  huge  hoisting  plant  and  mill,  and  connect  the 
whole  institution  with  a  main  line  of  travel  and  a  smelter. 
And  last  and  best  of  all,  provide  a  place  where  every  year 
or  so  Papa's  boys  could  run  out  on  their  "Millionaire  Spec 
ial" — not  forgetting  their  traveling  cigarette  factory — 
look  at  all  of  it,  and  imagine  as  the  wheels  turned  round, 
what  wonderful  financiers  they  had  become. 

483 


484        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

"  Little  Jack  Homer, 
He  sat  in  a  corner, 
Eating  a  Christmas  pie. 
He  stuck  in  his  thumb, 
And  pulled  out  a  plum, 
Saying,  What  a  BIG  boy  am  I." 

Solly  had  another  of  Papa's  boys  on  this  little  jaunt. 
Little  Freddie  Alderney  from  Boston.  Now  Freddie  war- 
noted  for  his  dozen  or  so  automobiles,  Red  Devils,  Blue 
Devils,  White  Ghosts,  Crimson  Flyers,  Bachelor  Buttons, 
Curling  Irons  and  the  like. 

My !  But  the  Alderneys  were  great  auto  chasers,  Fred 
die's  papa  being  engaged  at  this  time  upon  his  autobiog 
raphy,  which  would  soon  appear  in  print  in  a  very  ex 
clusive  and  limited  edition  of  red  levant  and  gold, 
and  containing  scores  of  portraits  of  a  long  line  of  Puri 
tan  ancestors.  From  advance  sheets  rendered  the  press, 
this  elaborate  work  apparently  tried  to  prove  that  the 
Alderneys  not  only  landed  at  Plymouth  Rock,  but  had 
actually,  in  a  bygone  stone  age,  placed  the  rock  there  in 
answer  to  a  direct  command  from  the  spirit  of  history. 

This  string  of  Papa's  Boys  which  Solly  had  thus  enticed 
into  the  wild  and  woolly  West,  were  graduates  of  Yale, 
Harvard  and  Princeton;  and  all  of  them  were  admitted 
"blue-stockings"  and  thorobred  aristocrats;  i.  e.,  except 
Solly  himself.  For  altho  Solly  was  a  Harvard  man,  yet  he 
laid  no  claim  to  ancestral  importance,  except  that  of  being 
the  son  of  an  honest,  shrewd  Jew,  really  the  best  of  recom 
mendations  to  those  who  know  the  history  of  the  martyred 
race.  Happily,  however,  Solly  may  advance  in  the  estima 
tion  of  Papa's  Boys,  and  perhaps  in  a  few  years,  such 
being  the  remarkable  development  of  American  ancestry, 
the  name  of  Guggenhone  will  be  formally  placed  upon 
the  log-book  of  the  good  ship  Mayflower  by  order  of  the 
Immaculate  and  Sky-blue  Society  of  American  Hen-set 
ters  and  Ham-clammers. 

Should  this  event  never  happen,  the  Jew  is  perfectly 
content  to  allow  the  sole  custody  of  American  ancestry 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        485 

to  Papa's  Boys,  if  he  is  allowed  the  custody  of  the  cash 
box. 

He  need  not  worry  as  to  ancestry,  knowing  he  was  one 
of  the  most  glorious  parts  of  the  past,  and,  too,  he  believes 
in  the  great  TODAY.  In  that  deed  and  dollar  today, 
which  grasped  immediately,  NOW,  is  a  great  deal  better 
than  a  million  dead  ones  of  yesterday.  Also  it  can  be  truly 
affirmed,  that  the  Jew's  strenuously  living  up  to  date,  TO 
DAY,  largely  accounts  for  the  glorious  immortality  of  his 
past.  Any  race,  working  fairly  and  squarely  in  Time's 
insistent  collar,  will  always  have  an  immortal  past. 

Percival  Leonidas  Whitless,  you  and  your  Papa's  Boys 
Romans  may  puff  your  gold-tipped  cigarettes  and  get 
shaved  twice  a  day  in  the  famous  "Millionaire  Special" 
that  carries  you  so  swiftly  from  New  York  to  El  Paso, 
'  but,  meantime,  don't  forget  that  our  little  Jew,  Solly,  and 
his  like,  is  the  coming  man  of  America. 

He  is  the  great  Today  man  who  will  lead  the  American 
Nation  to  a  great  Tomorrow. 

The  Jew  is  the  great  king  of  business. 

Israel,  Phoenicia,  Rome,  Venice. 

The  history  of  Spanish  Aragon  and  Castile.  The  rec 
ord  of  Moorish  Granada  and  Cordova.  The  gay  gallants 
of  both  the  Spaniard  and  the  Moor  riding  to  glory  on  the 
back  of  the  Jew,  but  that  Jew,  dressed  in  rich  damask  and 
satin  and  almost  outshining  royalty  itself  in  pomp  and 
luxury;  indeed,  could  outshine  it,  if  he  was  not  too  near 
the  dogs  and  wolves  of  tyranny. 

England,  too,  with  France,  Austria,  Prussia  and  Rus 
sia.  All  empires  of  the  Jew,  and  he  is  King  Business  in 
them  as  far  as  he  thinks  it  possible  without  exciting  jeal 
ousy  and  consequent  persecution. 

But  ah!    Here  in  America  is  the  land  for  Judah. 

Hear  these  brave  words  of  the  brilliant  Denver  Rabbi 
Friedman,  in  answer  to  the  Zionists: 

"  Jerusalem?  What  do  we  want  of  Jerusalem  when  we 
are  here  in  this  great  and  liberty-loving  United  States  of 
America.  Here,  where  we  are  the  equals  of  all  and  the 
serfs  of  none.  Here,  where  we  have  a  country,  and 


486         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

praised  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  we  have  a  flag.  And 
that  flag  the  ensign  of  a  free  and  independent  people, 
and  one  we  ourselves  helped  to  raise,  with  our  blood  and 
our  bone  and  our  flesh  and  our  sinew.  A  great  banner 
of  glorious  stars  and  stripes  which  represents  every  prin 
ciple  and  every  virtue  and  every  loved  thing  that  our 
fathers  fought  for  thru  all  the  ages  of  suffering  and  mar 
tyred  Israel.  Why,  friends,  we  live  no  longer  in  a  Prom 
ised  Land,  but  rather  in  the  Real  and  Present  Land  of 
widest  freedom  and  highest  mounting  civilization.  How 
goodly  are  thy  tabernacles,  0  Jacob.  Praised  be  the  name 
of  the  Most  High  God  of  Israel." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Solomon  had  three  special  objects  in  this  visit  to  the 
mountain  metropolis. 

First,  to  perfect  his  legal  residence  in  Colorado,  main 
tained  for  several  years  by  visiting  the  Silver  State  for  a 
few  days  annually. 

A  citizen  of  Colorado. 

Ump !  One  of  those  Coloradoans  who  live  in  New  York 
three  hundred  and  fifty  days  of  the  year,  devoting  ten 
days  in  transit  between  Gotham  and  Denver,  and  spend 
ing  the  remaining  five  days  at  the  Brown  Palace.  But 
who  can  blame  Solly?  For  this  legal  residence  idea  and 
magic  name  of  Coloradoan  helps  to  sell  American  Smel 
ter  to  the  Papa's  Boys  back  East ;  gives  Solly  lots  of  time 
to  devote  to  his  ever  dear  and  rapidly  aging  papa  and 
mama  and  his  beloved  and  tried  and  true  six  brothers, 
and  also  allows  Solly  to  bustle  around  a  bit  in  Colorado 
politics,  especially  in  the  mill  of  the  United  States  sen- 
atorship,  in  which  corporations  somehow  feel  so  interested 
these  late  and  strenuous  years. 

Second  object  of  Solly's  visit;  to  help  dedicate  a  new 
addition  to  the  National  Jewish  Home  for  poor  consump 
tives,  which  Solly,  papa  Mayer,  and  several  other  rich 
and  earnest  Jews  endowed  and  built  in  Denver  for  the 
care  of  poor  unfortunates.  A  most  worthy  and  com 
mendable  object  of  Solly's,  showing  another  admirable 
side  of  the  Jew. 

Third  object  of  Solly:  to  see  and  interview  Standish 
Brown. 

The  four  years'  contract  which  Standish  had  made 
with  Jonathan  Strong  would  expire  in  a  few  weeks,  and 
the  House  of  Guggenhone  is  worried  about  it.  Bad  ru 
mors  afloat  on  the  "Street"  of  a  new  smelting  combine, 
directly  after  Papa  Guggenhone's  seventy-fifth  birthday, 
a  notable  event  celebrated  by  a  grand  family  reunion,  and 

487 


488        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  presentation  of  a  clever  comedy  sketch  by  a  score  or 
more  of  Papa  Mayer's  grandchildren,  entitled  "U  Ketch 
'Em  and  I  Skin  'Em,"  a  parody  on  the  ways  of  AVall 
Street.  New  Yorkers  laughed  about  it  the  next  day  when 
it  came  out  in  the  papers.  A  clever  thing,  undoubtedly, 
and  true  to  the  life  of  the  "  Street."  The  title  sounds  as 
tho  it  might  be  a  genuine  Yankee  production.  Tom  Platt 
could  easily  have  written  the  "U  Ketch  'Em"  part,  while 
uncle  Russell  Sage  might  easily  have  added  the  "I  Skin 
'Em."  However,  the  playlet  was  really  written  by  one  of 
Solly's  clever  relatives  as  a  warning  to  the  youngsters  to 
beware  of  the  dog  of  "Wall  Street." 

Leaving  the  Papa's  Boys  to  their  gold-tipped  cigarettes 
and  to  do  the  town  in  one  of  Fred  Alderney's  latest  auto 
mobiles,  Solly  proceeded  to  make  his  call  on  Standish 
Brown. 

He  had  looked  forward  with  some  interest  to  this  inter 
view,  having  anticipated  an  unsatisfactory  conversation 
with  one  of  those  unreasonable,  egotistical,  so-called  self- 
made  men,  who  are  usually  prejudiced  against  everything 
and  anything  which  bears  the  slightest  evidence  of  col 
lege  gown  or  cap. 

To  his  great  surprise,  however,  he  found  himself  facing 
one  of  the  most  agreeable  and  pleasant  countenances  that 
he  had  ever  looked  upon.  The  young  Jew  felt  that  there 
was  a  tremendous  power  about  this  tall,  earnest  fellow ;  a 
personality  worthy  of  careful  analysis.  No  sham,  no 
estheticism,  no  untruth,  and  absolutely  no  taint  of  the 
deadly  American-dollar  instinct.  He  intuitively  felt  that 
those  clear,  calm  eyes  looking  so  seriously  into  his,  were 
the  windows  of  a  noble  soul ;  and  assured  by  the  smiling 
reception  which  the  mine  owner  extended  him,  Solomon 
went  at  his  work  with  characteristic  vigor. 

He  talked  a  new  contract  straight  from  the  shoulder, 
but  as  he  finished  and  looked  up  with  questioning  eyes  to 
note  the  result,  he  observed  a  faint  antagonistic  glitter  in 
Standish's  eyes  that  bade  him  pause. 

That  glitter  was  far  above  the  dollar  sign,  carrying  with 
it  a  subtle  force  that  struck  back  at  him  with  deadly 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        489 

power.  Solomon  had  never  encountered  this  peculiar 
force  before,  and,  being  an  adept  in  the  ways  of  human 
nature,  he  began  its  immediate  analysis.  It  did  not  take 
him  long.  The  six  brothers  of  the  House  of  Guggenhone 
had  made  no  mistake  when  they  picked  Solomon,  the 
seventh  brother,  to  study  and  examine  men  necessary  to 
the  success  of  their  enterprises.  And  this  was  the  line 
that  Solomon  got  on  Standish  Brown. 

His  was  the  stern  defiance  which  a  righteous,  incor 
ruptible  soul  gave  the  suave  emissary  of  a  cold-blooded, 
clammy-tentacled,  life-sucking  Trust  monster,  which  had 
crept  into  the  bright  sunshine  land  of  Colorado  and  built 
its  lair. 

To  Solomon,  who  had  ever  been  accustomed  to  drop  in 
on  a  man,  say  a  few  words  to  the  point,  and  quickly  ac 
complish  his  ends,  this  subtle,  smiling  defiance  of  Stand- 
ish's  was  a  revelation.  He  felt  a  power  darting  from  those 
clear  Puritan  eyes  which  struck  fire  in  his  own,  and  as 
with  the  rapid  play  of  flashing  swords,  the  sparks  flew  in 
showers.  Happily  tho,  Solomon  had  a  warm  spot  in  his 
heart  for  the  Puritan.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  noble 
association  of  Jew  and  Puritan  in  those  old  days  when 
Cromwell  opened  up  the  hospitable  gates  of  England  to 
the  unhappy  wanderers  from  Spain  and  Portugal.  This 
warm  feeling  of  Solomon's  made  him  quietly  and  gently 
tolerant,  and  he  closed  the  presentation  of  his  case  sin 
cerely  and  almost  warmly. 

A  long  pause  ensued.  Standish,  having  partially  swung 
his  chair  around,  was  looking  out  of  the  window  far  over 
the  roofs  and  housetops  of  the  city,  into  the  sky-line  of  the 
blue  and  brown  hills  to  the  west,  and  over  which  a  hue 
of  fresh  green  was  slowly  creeping,  for  the  young  aspens 
under  the  rays  of  the  warm  spring  sun  were  springing  up 
by  the  millions  on  the  mountain  sides.  From  his  office 
window,  too,  in  the  ninth  story  of  the  building,  Standish 
could  see  the  entrance  of  Clear  Creek  Gulch,  distinctly 
marked  by  a  column  of  vaporous  white  smoke  issuing 
from  the  stack  of  the  smelter  at  Goldie  which  was  treat 
ing  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds.  Finally,  turning  toward 


490        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Solomon  from  his  rather  rude  spell  of  abstraction,  he  said 
kindly  but  firmly : 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  when  my  contract  with  your  con 
cern  expires,  I  shall  begin  smelting  myself;  I  would  have 
done  so  three  years  ago  had  I  not  got  bound  up  in  this 
contract  thru  the  treachery  of  John  Charles  Rose." 

Solomon  smiled  pleasantly,  saying : 

"I  trust,  Mr.  Brown,  that  you  fully  understand  the 
magnitude  of  the  proposition  you  are  about  to  undertake. 
For  I  can  assure  you  that  it  is  only  by  exercising  the 
greatest  care  and  economy  that  our  own  organization  is 
enabled  to  make  an  honest  return  on  the  capital  invested." 

"  Yes,  but  honest  now,  Mr.  Guggenhone,  how  much  is 
your  capital  stock  watered?"  was  the  quiet  rejoinder. 

Solomon  did  not  flinch,  and  with  admirable  self-con 
trol  he  replied: 

"Well,  even  if  there  is  some  water  in  it,  it  is  not  so 
much  that  it  would  require  the  qualifying  of  my  first  re 
mark  to  any  appreciable  degree,  Mr.  Brown." 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,"  replied  Standish  almost  reproach 
fully,  "After  the  most  careful  investigation,  I  am  satis 
fied  that  of  the  entire  fifty-five  million  of  the  capital 
stock  issue  of  the  American  Smelter  Co.,  fully  two-thirds 
of  it  is  nothing  but  water;  and  its  stock,  selling  today  at 
par  or  better,  isn't  really  worth  more  than  thirty-five 
cents.  Now,  I  don't  intimate  in  this  statement  that  it's 
the  fault  of  the  promoters  of  the  concern,  nor  do  I  intend 
it  as  a  reflection  on  the  House  of  Guggenhone;  for  all  I 
know  they  might  have  been  inveigled  into  paying  ex 
travagant  sums  for  the  different  concerns  which  made  up 
the  merger.  But  I  do  say  that  the  stock  is  worth  only 
about  one-third  the  daily  quotations  in  the  open  market. 
I  can  also  say  with  hearty  appreciation  that  none  but  a 
remarkable  group  of  men  could  hold  the  concern  together 
and  make  it  pay  dividends;  altho  I  take  the  liberty  to 
add,  that  I  expect  to  see  the  thing  either  collapse  in  the 
face  of  severe  competition  or  else  suffer  a  marked  shrink 
age  in  value." 

Now,  Solomon  was  an  adept  in  one  of  the  most  valuable 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        491 

moves  in  the  game  of  diplomacy,  and  that  is  to  know 
when  to  quit,  and  smiling  good-humoredly  at  the  some 
what  insistent  mine  owner,  he  said  quietly: 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  don't  believe  that  I  am  prepared  or 
empowered  to  enter  into  a  discussion  of  the  affairs  of 
the  American  Smelter  Co.,  other  than  to  negotiate  a  new 
contract  with  you,  and  I  trust  you  will  believe  me  when 
I  say  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  it  will  be  of  great  ad 
vantage  to  both  parties  concerned ;  and  if  you  will  conde 
scend  to  listen  to  the  liberal  terms  I  am  empowered  to 
offer  I  feel  you  will  be  very  favorably  impressed." 

"  No !  Most  emphatically,  no,  Mr.  Guggenhone.  I  will 
entertain  no  proposition  whatsoever  from  the  American 
Smelter  Co.  For  within  five  years  I  expect  to  see  a  strong, 
healthy  competitor  in  the  field  against  your  concern.  A 
substantial  strictly  Western  institution,  with  the  inesti 
mable  advantage  of  having  a  solid,  honest,  fully  paid  up 
capital  stock,  owning  smelting  plants  and  the  necessary 
auxiliaries  of  the  very  latest  and  improved  types  worth 
every  dollar  the  stockholders  invest.  A  concern  that  will 
make  money  where  its  rival  will  be  handicapped  with  its 
watered  stock  and  every  dollar  invested  in  its  out-of-date, 
antiquated  machinery." 

"Er — r,  excuse  me,  Mr.  Brown,"  interrupted  the 
blandly  smiling  Solomon,  as  Standish  was  proceeding  in 
tones  considerably  enthusiastic,  "I  really  haven't  the  time 
to  hear  you  detail  a  full  prospectus  of  the  new  rival  to  the 
American,  so  if  you  will  allow  me  to  take  my  departure 
for  the  present,  I  will  try  and  see  you  again  on  the  mat 
ter." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Guggenhone,"  replied  Standish,  smil 
ing  almost  sheepishly  at  his  own  enthusiasm,  "  I  hope  you 
won't  take  it  to  heart  that  I  have  unconsciously  endeav 
ored  to  interest  you  in  the  ,new  concern.  Perhaps — per 
haps,"  he  added  good-humoredly  and  half  seriously,  "You 
might  want  to  be  leaving  the  old  hulk  by  that  time  and 
be  glad  to  get  aboard  the  new  craft." 

"All  right,  let's  leave  it  that  way  if  you  choose,  Mr. 
Brown.  In  the  meantime,  let  me  assure  you  that  it's  been 


492        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

a  great  pleasure  to  meet  you,  and  I  hope  to  record  many 
more  such  meetings  in  the  future." 

"I  reciprocate  that  sentiment  heartily,  Mr.  Guggen- 
hone,  good  day,"  said  Standish  as  the  smelter  king  rose 
and  extended  his  hand. 

Solomon  left  the  office  of  Standish  Brown  quite  dissat 
isfied  with  himself,  and  Papa's  Boys  did  not  see  much  of 
him  that  night.  He  sent  several  cipher  telegrams  to  his 
brothers,  and  the  next  morning  received  a  batch  of  replies 
suggesting  that  he  try  Brown  on  another  tack.  With  no 
faith,  however,  in  his  ability  to  conform  to  their  sugges 
tion,  he  complied  with  their  request  sufficiently  to  inter 
view  Standish  again  and  dutifully  lay  the  matter  before 
him. 

This  time  he  proposed  that  his  concern  treat  the  ores 
of  the  40  Rounds  at  the  very  minimum  of  cost,  in  fact, 
leaving  the  cost  of  treatment  wholly  to  the  mine  owner's 
own  sense  of  fairness  and  right.  But  Standish  was  not 
to  be  deceived  as  to  the  motive,  indeed,  there  was  no  doubt 
in  his  mind  that  he  could,  with  a  little  persuasion, 
even  get  the  Trust  to  actually  give  him  a  bonus  for  his 
ores.  The  concern  could  well  afford  to  do  this,  for  he 
believed  its  stock  would  go  down  with  a  decided  biff-bang 
once  he  took  hold  of  the  new  smelter  enterprise  with  the 
energy  and  success  he  was  meeting  in  the  development  of 
the  Short  Line.  Great  House  of  Guggenhone  might  have 
a  fall.  Guggenhone  smelter  kingship  might  be  ques 
tioned,  perhaps  go  to  smash. 

"  Mr.  Guggenhone,"  replied  Standish  firmly,  after  Sol 
omon  had  laid  the  matter  before  him  tactfully,  "My  smel 
ter  is  going  to  be  a  reality.  You  fellows  were  cute,  I 
might  say  almost  disreputable  enough,  to  crowd  me  out 
once.  But  I  am  not  to  be  denied  this  time.  I  am  not 
going  to  get  a  brass  band  and  herald  the  enterprise,  but  I 
shall  act  quietly,  decently,  and  accomplish  my  ends  with 
due  regard  to  whatever  interests  are  in  the  field.  In  fact, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  have  an  active  competitor,  and  shall  try 
my  best  to  win  its  regard  and  esteem  by  all  legitimate 
means.  I  shall  want  it  to  feel  that  my  enterprise  is  not 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         493 

a  mortal  enemy,  but  a  friend,  sharing  a  field  that  is  amply 
large  1p  support  both.  You  see,  at  least  I  must  try  and 
make  you  see,  Mr.  Guggenhone,  that  as  a  matter  of  per 
sonal  pride,  I  shouldn't  allow  myself  either  to  be  coerced 
by  your  people  as  to  abandoning  my  proposed  enterprise, 
or  allow  them  to  accept  any  humiliating  terms  from  me 
in  closing  a  new  contract.  There  is  positively  no  need  of 
it;  the  business  is  of  too  great  importance  and  covers  too 
large  a  field  for  either  party  to  quarrel.  It  won't  be  any 
one's  fault  particularly  if  American  Smelter  drops  heavily 
in  the  market  upon  the  advent  of  a  rival.  People  are 
bound  to  get  a  true  line  on  things  in  course  of  time.  It 
might  as  well  be  one  time  as  another.  If  the  stuff  is  not 
worth  the  money,  it's  sure  to  drop,  even  if  it's  government 
bonds,  and  surely  you  people  will  guard  yourselves  ac 
cordingly.  Now,  I  hope  you  won't  think  me  silly,  Mr. 
Guggenhone,  when  I  frankly  confess  to  you  that  I  would 
undertake  this  smelter  enterprise  if  I  positively  knew  in 
advance  that  I  would  lose  every  dollar  I  possessed  on  earth. 
The  monopolistic  tactics  of  your  concern  in  Colorado  has 
impressed  and  inflicted  itself  so  strongly  upon  me  in  years 
past  that  I  am  committed  to  its  rebuke  body  and  soul. 
The  very  fact  that  you  are  here  now  to  attempt  to  dissuade 
me  from  my  object,  only  arouses  my  most  fierce  and  bit 
ter  antagonism.  Mr.  Guggenhone,  I  trust  there  is  one 
man  in  Colorado  that  can't  be  bought,  either  by  individ 
ual  or  Trust.  I  believe  I  have  certain  rights.  One  of 
those  rights  is  to  own  and  operate  a  smelter.  Won't  the 
American  Smelter  Company  allow  me  to  exercise  that 
privilege?  What  does  it  want,  the  earth?  Say,  Mr.  Gug 
genhone,"  the  mine  owner  added,  half  seriously,  half  sar 
castically,  "What  is  POSSESSION,  anyhow?  How  much 
should  a  concern  or  an  individual  be  allowed  to  possess 
before  it  is  admitted  that  it  is  working  an  injury  upon 
the  rights  of  others.  At  least  without  arousing,  as  the 
machinations  of  the  American  Smelter  Company  has 
aroused  in  me,  bitter  and  unrelenting  opposition." 
In  spite  of  his  fair  and  well-balanced  ideas  as  to  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

difference  between  the  college  bred  and  the  so-called  self- 
made  man,  Solomon  rather  resented  the  blunt — and  as  he 
looked  upon  it  at  that  time — egotistical  remarks  of  a  man 
who  had  scarcely  even  seen  the  inside  of  a  college.  It 
was  almost  that  same  feeling  the  regular  soldier  has 
toward  the  volunteer.  He,  Solomon  Guggenhone,  was  a 
regular;  had  seen  service,  and  had  been  declared  amply 
qualified  by  a  competent  board.  But  the  volunteer — 
ump !  had  escaped  the  rigors  of  the  service  and  the  test  of 
the  examining  board;  had  led  the  free  butterfly  life,  and 
now,  at  the  first  surge  of  a  national  crisis,  poked  his  im 
pudent  nose  into  everything;  rudely  brushed  aside  the 
regular-army-o,  and  calmly  proceeded  to  assure  the  nation 
that  he  would  save  the  day,  and  be  the  truth  known — 
without  prejudice  to  the  tried  and  true  regular — he  gen 
erally  does. 

Really  there  should  be  no  question  as  to  supremacy 
between  the  college-bred  and  the  self-made  man. 

\Vise  men  from  several  quarters  of  the  world  fell  to 
their  knees  and  worshipped  the  infant  Jesus.  The  vener 
able  and  highly-schooled  elders  of  the  Temple  were  con 
founded  by  this  same  precocious  youth.  No  college  life 
for  this  lowly  Nazarene,  only  a  nobly  divine  soul  endowed 
with  a  glorious  inheritance,  preaching  spontaneously  un 
der  the  blue  Judean  skies. 

Shakespeare,  free  romping  child  of  manor  and  moor. 
Yet  such  mighty  collegians  as  Voltaire  and  Goethe  bowed 
down  and  worshipped  this  wandering  swain,  this  inspired 
bard  of  Avon. 

The  University  of  Edinburgh  educated  Thomas  Car- 
lyle,  yet  this  same  grand  Scot  worshipped  at  the  shrine  of 
the  unlettered  Mohammed,  and  sang  glowing  praises  of 
nature-taught  Bobbie  Burns. 

Victor  Hugo,  the  grand  French  collegian,  falls  pros 
trate  at  the  feet  of  rough  John  Brown  of  Kansas. 

The  polished  three-hour  oration  at  Gettysburg,  by  Ed 
ward  Everett,  president  of  Harvard,  yields  as  the  night 
yields  to  the  day  to  the  ten-minute  talk  of  the  immortal 
Lincoln,  the  awkward  plough  boy  of  Kentucky,  the  rail 
splitter  of  Illinois. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         495 

Be  not  alarmed  tho  ye  worthy  college  graduates,  who 
ever  you  are,  for  the  college  man  fills  a  noble  place  in  the 
world,  if  only  to  teach  the  world  a  just  appreciation  of 
the  genius  and  the  remarkable  inheritances  of  its  unlet 
tered  men  and  women. 

A  volume  of  Kant  won't  teach  a  man  to  throw  a  slap 
jack,  and  hunger  will  assert  itself  once  in  a  while. 

A  year  at  Wellesley  or  Vassar  won't  teach  the  New 
Woman  to  quiet  the  tears  of  a  little  papoose,  or  to  re 
move  the  moths  from  the  flaxen  hair  of  a  little  girl's  doll. 

The  dear  old  college  days  are  glorious  days,  Young 
America,. but  there  is  much  to  be  learned  outside  of  them. 
And  never,  never  forget,  dear  collegians,  that  while  you 
are  poring  over  Blackstone  and  Marshall,  and  labori 
ously  absorbing  dogma  and  approved  science,  some  tough 
young  stripling  out  on  the  Kansas  and  Nebraska  prairies 
is  learning  the  master  of  all  the  arts  and  sciences,  CREA 
TION,  from  the  high-soaring  stars,  the  growing  wheat 
and  ripening  corn,  the  running  brooks,  and  the  dirge  of 
the  wild  bleak  winds ;  and  last  and  greatest  of  all,  from  the 
glorious  inheritance  of  a  vast  storehouse  of  a  soul  not 
crammed  with  dead  and  obsolete  knowledge  or  filled  with 
a  congestion  of  useless  information  and  riffraff,  which,  by 
reason  of  its  peculiar  individual  genius,  it  cannot  utilize. 

"Abraham  Lincoln  read  the  least,  and  THOUGHT 
THE  MOST,  of  anyone  I  ever  knew  or  read  of,"  is  re 
corded  by  one  of  the  great  Emancipator's  closest  friends. 

THOUGHT,  that's  the  word. 

Whether  in  college  or  out  in  the  rough-and-tumble 
world. 

But  always,  and  at  all  times,  the  world  worships  at  the 
shrine  of  the  First  Player  of  the  Soul,  incomparable, 
GENIUS. 

For  in  the  end  it  is  Genius  who  invariably  tips  the 
scales  on  either  side  between  the  college  and  the  self-made 
man. 

An  individual  may  get  his  substance  from  a  dung 
hill,  but  if  Genius  puts  its  stamp  upon  him,  the  world 
will  crown  the  dunghiller  as  readily  as  it  will  the  bright 
est  son  of  Yale. 


496         THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

As  Solomon  Guggenhone  sat  there  facing  Standish 
Brown  and  revolving  in  his  mind  this  question  as  dis 
cussed  above,  he  dismissed  it  instantly  at  the  final  per 
sonal  remark  addressed  to  him  somewhat  abruptly  by  the 
serious-voiced  mine  owner,  "What  is  possession?" 

A  great  light  seemed  to  be  flooding  his  soul.  Yes, 
what,  indeed,  was  this  thing  he  was  sacrificing  his  young 
life  to  gain? 

"Possession?  Oh!  Supreme  Master,  Lord  of  all  earthly 
and  celestial  hosts!  What  is  possession?" 

What  is  this  terrible  thing,  in  the  battle  for  which  the 
life  blood  of  Young  America  is  flowing  in  broad  scarlet 
rivers? 

This  Glut  of  GET.  This  Science  of  Acquisitiveness. 
This  damnable  modern  business  instinct.  This  almost 
maniacal  propagation  of  a  few  paltry  thousands  into  vast 
unsatisfied  millions.  This  cursed  reaching  of  millions  for 
a  coveted  billion. 

Possession !  Eternally  damned  be  thy  name,  when  you 
represent  the  lascivious  clutch,  the  unscrupulous  acquisi 
tion,  and  the  unholv  coveting  and  hoarding  of  millions. 

"To  Have  and  to  Hold." 

Yea!  By  the  ancient  clay  gods,  "To  Hold,"  even  tho 
we  crucify  ten  thousand  meek,  rebuking  Christs,  and 
starve  a  million  fair  breast-suckling  babes. 

Solomon  Guggenhone  made  only  a  conventional  reply 
to  Standish  Brown's  question,  and  rising  abruptly  to  his 
feet,  he  bade  him  a  pleasant  goodbye,  incidentally  remark 
ing  that  he  would  meet  him  again  at  a  more  opportune 
time.  But  the  balance  of  the  day  and  for  many  days 
thereafter,  he  saw  the  handwriting  on  the  wall;  far,  far 
above  the  cigarette  smoke  of  Papa's  Boys;  and  far,  far 
beyond  his  interest  in  the  flight  of  the  train  as  it  rolled 
from  Denver  down  into  old  Mexico.  Yes,  and  far  beyond 
the  interest  he  displayed  in  showing  Papa's  Boys  the  rich 
silver  mines  of  Dolores,  did  the  brave  young  Jew  wrestle 
with  that  supreme  problem  of  a  morally  inclined  rich 
man,  "What  is  Possession?" 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         497 

Standish  Brown  having  crossed  swords  with  the  House 
of  Guggenhonc,  the  fight  was  on. 

But  thru  it  all,  Genius,  the  most  versatile  player  of  the 
Sublime  Stage,  was  to  display  his  wondrous  art  to  thosa 
curious  Mericans  who  were  eagerly  watching  this  battle 
royal  in  Western  smelting  affairs. 

Genius  plays  the  double  role  in  souls. 

There  is  the  Genius  of  Good,  the  Genius  of  Evil. 

Christ  and  Satan. 

The  Genius  of  Day  and  of  Night. 

Sun  and  Shadow. 

The  Genius  of  two  mysteries — Birth  and  Death. 

The  Genius  of  Creation  and  of  Destruction. 

Solomon  who  builds  a  Temple.  Nebuchadnezzar  who 
destroys  it. 

America's  millionaires  will  battle  to  the  death,  while 
America's  masses  will  watch  the  Titanic  battle  with 
breathless  awe. 

In  that  deadly  conflict  great  victories  will  be  achieved; 
great  inventions  produced.  Great  poets  will  rise  to  pen 
the  songs  of  glorious  deeds  and  noble  actions.  Great  sculp 
tors  will  spring  to  life  to  decorate  the  tombs  of  the  mighty 
fallen. 

In  this  noble  land  of  ours,  the  genius  of  the  Jew  will 
enter  the  lists  with  that  of  the  Puritan.  The  Slav  with 
that  of  the  Hibernian.  The  German  will  continue  his 
ancient  Old  World  rivalry  with  the  Celt,  Greek  will  again 
meet  Greek,  Guelf  meet  Ghibelline;  and  all  the  other 
innumerable  races  and  ancient  feudal  peoples  of  the 
earth  will  have  their  fling  at  the  whirlwind,  for  this 
America  is  the  human  potpourri  of  the  last  days  of  this 
hoary,  staggering,  weary-of-it-all  world.  This  swelling 
and  rapidly  ripening  fruit  on  the  stem  of  the  Universe 
must  needs  be  plucked  by  the  Lord  of  Time  to  deck  the 
banquet  board  of  the  Head  of  Glory. 

But  these  Masses !  Oh !  Shining  and  lustrous  Head  of 
Glory.  These  lowly  patient  Merican  masses!  Will  they 
not  feed  on  the  crusts  and  crumbs  tossed  out?  Will  they 
not  wrap  themselves  in  the  garments  of  the  slain,  and  fire 


498        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

their  humble  hearths  with  the  broken  wheels  of  the 
crushed  and  cast-off  chariots? 

The  unholy,  unsatisfied,  ennui- jaded  Millionaires  of 
America,  drunk  with  conquest  and  spoil,  will  fight  to 
their  fill  and  perish  in  the  ruins  of  their  empire.  But 
these  vast  legions  of  America's  honest  toiling  Masses  will 
somewhere  and  somehow  in  the  bosom  of  the  Almighty 
God  roll  on  forever.  They  are  the  golden  wheat  and  tas- 
seling  corn  of  the  garnered  World,  and  the  winnowings 
of  God  alone  are  worthy  to  be  stored  in  the  granaries  of 
Eternity. 

In  the  irresistible  sweep  of  America's  Masses,  the  feeble 
clutch  of  America's  Millionaires  will  relax  and  perish  as 
surely  as  the  mists  of  night  are  dispelled  by  the  golden 
beams  of  the  rising  sun.  The  reign  of  American  Plu 
tocracy  will  fade  as  swiftly  as  did  the  hoof-prints  of  At- 
tila's  steeds  upon  the  fertile  plains  of  Italy. 

And  serenely,  gloriously  above  the  blood-stained  graves 
of  Iniquity  and  Error,  shall  rise  the  tender  forms  of 
lilies  to  scent  the  breeze  with  Hope. 

America  for  the  Masses. 

Oblivion  for  the  self-decreed  FEW. 

And  Genius,  thou  spirit-winged  messenger  of  God,  in 
all  this  shall  thou  glorify  our  Merican  race. 

Genius  is  the  First  Player  of  the  Sublime  Stage,  in 
that  magnificent  role  which  glorifies  an  illustrious  na 
tion. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Work  was  progressing  rapidly  on  the  Short  Line.  On 
the  back  of  a  sturdy  cayuse  Standish  inspected  every  foot 
of  the  right-of-way  from  the  terminal  in  Denver  to  the 
west  portal  of  the  last  tunnel  on  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
James,  then  rode  on  over  Rollins  Pass  and  down  the  val 
leys  of  the  Frazer  and  the  Grand  into  the  Springs.  Bud 
Snyder  entertained  him  royally  that  night,  and  the  next 
morning  accompanied  him  as  he  inspected  several  miles 
of  grade  west  of  the  Springs.  Camping  that  night  with  a 
grading  outfit,  he  started  the  next  day  for  Plume,  going 
over  Berthoud  Pass,  via  Empire,  and  catching  the  even 
ing  train  from  the  latter  point  to  his  old  home. 

He  found  the  men  at  the  40  Rounds  filling  up  the  big 
ore  crib  which  had  first  come  into  use  during  the  panic  of 
'93.  The  contract  with  the  American  Smelting  Co.  hav 
ing  recently  expired,  Standish  was  storing  his  product 
until  he  could  get  his  smelter  affairs  in  proper  shape,  for 
the  Short  Line  being  the  great  factor  in  his  life  just  then, 
everything  else  was  sacrificed  to  advance  the  road. 

Plume  was  practically  unchanged  since  he  had  left  it 
to  take  up  his  residence  in  Denver,  with  the  exception 
that  a  few  more  holes  were  bored  into  the  sides  of  the 
Emerald  and  the  Castle;  some  of  them  quite  deep,  as 
was  evidenced  by  the  goodly  piles  of  rock  and  waste  mat 
ter  on  the  dumps.  He  visited  the  cottage  where  Fiorina 
and  he  had  spent  their  honeymoon.  Red  Rourke  and 
his  numerous  progeny  occupied  it  now.  In  the  small 
back  yard  he  lingered  for  a  moment  beside  three  tiny 
pebble-covered  mounds,  marking  the  graves  of  Billy, 
faithful  Shep,  and  Fiorina's  canary,  Nicca.  Shep  met  a 
death  similar  to  that  of  old  Peter  Brown,  crushed  by  a 
cave-in  in  an  upper  drift  of  the  mine.  Billy  succumbed 
to  pneumonia,  probably  induced  by  the  high  altitude; 

499 


500         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

and  tiny  caroling  Mcca  died  from  sheer  old  age.  Ever 
since  that  time  the  Browns  had  studiously  avoided  bring 
ing  pets  into  their  family  life,  as  it  seemed  to  them  that 
the  acquisition  of  a  new  pet  would  be  but  the  precursor 
of  a  sad  funeral. 

The  mine  owner  thoroly  enjoyed  his  day  at  Plume, 
filled  as  it  was  with  memories  of  the  old  days.  Among 
other  things  he  descended  to  the  creek  where  it  flowed 
some  five  hundred  feet  below  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel, 
and  even  explored  a  bit  about  the  debris  of  the  great  slide 
in  which  was  buried  the  remains  of  his  old  cottage  with 
Dad's  precious  violin  and  others  of  his  ancient  treasures. 

He  had  intended  returning  to  the  city  by  the  late 
afternoon  train,  but  after  thoroly  inspecting  the  great 
mine  which  still  showed  treasure  in  the  various  levels,  it 
was  too  late,  so  he  climbed  up  the  steep  ledge  far  above 
the  mouth  of  the  tunnel,  a  loving  pilgrimage  to  the  great 
stone  cross  on  the  mountain  side. 

The  clump  of  pines  was  a  little  taller  and  thicker,  and  a 
few  more  resinous  rings  told  the  story  of  added  years 
of  deep  snows  and  wild-wind  bufferings. 

Standish  knelt  beside  the  grave  of  his  dear  old  dad  long 
and  silently,  and  reverently  pressed  his  lips  to  the  cross. 
This  communion  was  very  sweet  to  him.  No  one  near. 
No  sounds  save  the  eternal  dirge  of  the  mountain  wind 
among  the  pines.  Naught  save  the  wilderness  of  Nature 
and  the  blessed  presence  of  those  innumerable  beings 
springing  to  life  within  his  soul,  loosed  by  the  magic 
hands  of  Memory. 

Pulling  forth  the  farewell  letter  of  his  father  from  the 
slender  wallet  in  his  inner  coat  pocket,  he  slowly  read 
it,  weeping  silently  as  he  did  so.  Presently  a  great  and 
nameless  emotion  filled  his  heart,  and  upon  the  Sublime 
Stage  walked  a  familiar  figure.  Was  it  a  vision? 

No!  It  was  more  than  a  vision.  It  was  the  living 
presence  of  Peter  Brown,  appearing  to  him  just  as  in 
the  old  days,  real  as  life.  Even  talked  in  the  well-remem 
bered,  honest,  hearty  tones. 

Ah !    This  great  play-house  of  the  soul. 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         501 

Peter  told  his  boy  how  proud  he  was  of  him.  Showed 
him  the  Short  Line  completed,  the  entire  four  hundred 
and  some  odd  miles  of  shining  steel  stretching  from  ter 
minal  to  terminal,  with  a  dozen  great  trains  moving  over 
it.  Showed  him  the  great  new  smelter,  complete  and 
gloriously  impressive,  with  an  enormous  stack  which  quite 
o'ertopped  the  mighty  chimney  of  Plant  B.  Showed 
his  boy  all  this,  laughed  and  joked,  and  petted  him  as 
he  used  to  long  ago;  also  calling  in  the  tender  mother 
Mary,  whose  precious  form  of  clay  laid  away  back  in 
Iowa,  upon  the  green  and  flowering  slope  of  a  high  hill 
perched  above  the  purling  ripple  of  the  Des  Moines. 

Visions,  these?    No!    Realities. 

Ghosts?    No!    Actualities. 

Merely  spiritual  forms  of  beings  once  existing  in  mater 
ial  forms. 

Actual,  living  beings,  treading  the  immortal  Stage  of 
the  Soul. 

Who  would  deny  the  existence  of  these  transcendent 
creatures  ? 

To  deny  them,  is  to  deny  Thought,  our  greatest  truth 
and  fact  of  existence. 

Descartes,  of  all  the  philosophers,  proved  human  exist 
ence.  And  how?  By  Thought  alone.  "I  THINK,  there 
fore  I  am." 

Listen  to  benign  and  heaven-visioned  Confucius  as 
he  quotes  and  comments  upon  an  old  Tao  poem : 

"  How  they  are  waving,  waving, 
The  blossoming  myrtles  gay; 
Do  I  not  think  of  you,  love? 
Your  home  is  far  away." 

The  great  sage  of  China,  repeating  these  lines,  re 
marked,  "  That  is  because  men  do  not  THINK.  Why  is 
it  far  away?" 

Yes,  why,  when  the  thing  is  here,  HERE,  within  the 
rosy  Soul. 

If  we  deny  Thought,  we  must  deny  Creation. 


502         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

If  we  deny  Creation,  we  must  deny  God. 

And  who,  having  a  soul  and  conscious  of  its  mechanics 
and  spontaneities  would  dare? 

The  later  St.  Peter's  existed  in  this  soul-world  long  be 
fore  Michael  Angelo  materialized  it  in  stone,  bronze  and 
marble. 

The  phonograph  lived  here  long  before  it  displayed  its 
wonders  to  a  delighted  public. 

John  Brown  freed  the  slave  here  long  before  the  Eman 
cipation  Proclamation  of  Abraham  Lincoln  gave  him 
freedom. 

Raphael  here  beheld  and  communed  with  the  Madonna 
and  the  Divine  Infant  long  before  he  placed  them  upon 
a  canvas  for  the  fathers  of  the  Sistine  Chapel. 

Verily,  the  near  and  new  prophet  in  the  regular  suc 
cession  of  Israel  will  revolutionize  humanity's  old  ideas 
of  immortality. 

When  Standish  awoke  from  the  spell  of  the  Play,  the 
sun  was  riding  the  edge  of  the  great  Peak  far  in  the 
shining  West,  one  glorious  chariot  wheel  of  fire  rolling 
down  into  Utah  upon  a  pathway  of  gold. 

The  musing  man  waited  until  the  shadows  began  to 
fall,  and  then,  filled  with  reverence  and  awe,  he  strode 
down  the  steep  trail  toward  the  twinkling  lights  of  Plume. 

At  the  hotel  he  was  handed  the  following  telegram : 

"  Standish  Brown, 

"Plume,  Colo. 

"  You  are  the  father  of  a  little  girl.  Mother  and  child  doing 
well.  Come  at  once.  "  DAVID  MOORE." 


CHAPTER  XV 

Fiorina's  little  girl  came  rather  unexpectedly,  fully 
two  weeks  ahead  of  the  schedule,  otherwise  Standish 
would  not  have  left  on  his  tour  of  inspection. 

Ferrari,  however,  took  the  situation  bravely  in  hand, 
quickly  secured  the  physician  and  nurse,  and  the  whole 
affair  passed  off  successfully  without  the  presence  of 
paterfamilias. 

When  uncle  Davy  heard  of  it,  he  was  the  busiest  man 
on  Capitol  Hill.  Kept  the  wires  hot.  Wired  and  'phoned 
all  day,  trying  to  locate  Standish  somewhere  on  the  line  of 
the  Short  Line. 

"  D ,  d ,  where  in  the  devil  is  the  fool  anyway?" 

the  nurse  had  overheard  him  say  to  the  doctor,  "  Just  to 
think,  Doc,  that  a  man  doesn't  know  enough  to  be  at 
home  when  a  baby  is  expected." 

Whew!  "  Splutter!  Fume!  How  uncle  Davy  did  go 
on,  while  old  Doc  Magan  laughed  at  him  till  his  sides 
fairly  ached.  Ferrari  and  Davy  held  very  grave  consulta 
tions  on  the  rear  porch  of  the  Brown  mansion  every  few 
minutes.  Ferrari  calmly  pulling  at  the  stem  of  a  huge 
meerschaum,  uncle  Davy  tugging  fiercely  at  his  favorite 
Havanas. 

Great  event  this.  Uncle  Davy  would  give  a  million 
dollars  in  cold  cash  for  the  little  red-faced  newcomer.  He 
didn't  go  to  his  office  in  the  National  First  the  whole  day. 
Wouldn't  even  answer  the  private  telephone  call  from 
the  bank,  which  caused  Cashier  Nichols  to  rush  up  in 
his  auto  in  great  alarm.  Then  when  uncle  Davy  had 
finally  condescended  with  great  seriousness  to  offer  an 
explanation,  Nick  looked  very  stormy  at  first,  but  after 
ward,  when  the  extreme  humor  of  the  situation  dawned 
upon  him,  he  laughed  like  a  fool,  causing  Davy  to  look 
at  him  with  utter  contempt. 

503 


504        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

So  the  long  day  passed.  Still  no  word  from  Standish. 
Isolated  somewhere  around  the  James.  Uncle  Davy  grad 
ually  calming  down.  Ferrari,  gravely  philosophical  and 
very  happy  and  proud,  too.  Fiorina  wondering,  slyly 
amused  at  uncle  Davy,  and  comforting  him  by  showing 
him  the  new  arrival  from  under  the  folds  of  the  blanket 
by  her  side. 

It  was  in  this  condition  at  five  o'clock  that  afternoon, 
that  Mrs.  Theodore  Dodge  dawned  upon  the  scene.  The 
Brown's  coachman,  who  was  a  flame  of  Henriette,  the 
Dodge's  housekeeper,  having  duly  imparted  the  informa 
tion  to  Henriette,  and  she  to  her  mistress. 

Fiorina  looked  up  at  her  gratefully  as  she  came  into 
the  room  sweetly  expectant  and  concerned,  and  as  Fi 
orina  put  out  her  hand  Mollie  reached  down  and  kissed 
her  affectionately. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Dodge,  I  thought  you'd  come.  How  nice 
of  you.  See  here,  just  see  what  I  have  to  show  you,"  she 
said  in  her  ingenuous,  impetuous  manner,  as  she  lifted  the 
coverlet  where  the  little  one  lay  sleeping,  its  tiny  red  face 
puckering  up  tight  as  the  light  streamed  in.  "Meester 
Brown,  him  way  up  to  Plume,  mebbe  Salt  Lake,"  she 
added  dubiously,  by  way  of  explanation,  "I  wish  him  here, 
now,"  she  continued  as  she  tucked  the  coverlet  about 
the  infant. 

In  Mollie's  ,heart  there  was  a  world  of  sentiment.  The 
feeling  of  a  vast  mother  hunger  rushed  in  on  her  and 
she  sighed  deeply.  She  who  was  fated  to  be  childless. 
She  who  mas  so  rich  in  all  that  society  could  yield  her,  yet 
so  poverty  stricken  in  motherhood.  She  sat  for  a  long 
time  beside  the  young  Italian  mother  delighting  in  her 
artless  innocent  prattle,  and  deeply  engulfed  in  her  own 
retrospections. 

Finally  the  shadows  began  to  creep  into  the  great  west 
window,  from  where  Fiorina  propped  up  on  the  pillows, 
could  look  at  her  sleeping  babe  and  far  out  over  the  val 
ley  of  the  Cherry  and  up  at  the  Great  Hills  whose  shin 
ing  summits  were  tipped  in  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         505 

"  Him  there.  Beeg  man  over  there,"  she  said  softly, 
gazing  at  Mollie  who  sat  with  her  hands  clasped  about  her 
knees  looking  wistfully  out  at  the  scarlet  sun  banners  and 
the  deepening  shadows  of  the  dying  day. 

"Yes,  him  there,"  Fiorina  repeated  softly,  pointing 
fondly  into  the  distant  West.  And  Mollie  understood. 
Big,  awkward  Standish  Brown.  Once  so  poor,  rough,  and 
unknown,  and  in  whose  arms  she  had  once  deigned  to 
rest.  Brave  Standish  Brown,  her  hero  of  Colorado  Steel, 
now  so  rich  in  material  wealth;  now  so  luxurious  in  a 
glorious  husbandhood,  fatherhood. 

Presently  little  Peter,  who  had  played  with  his  toy 
train  upon  the  chamber  floor  nearly  all  the  afternoon, 
crept  up  sleepily  into  the  childless  society  queen's  lap, 
and  hugging  him  close  she  gently  crooned  an  old  Irish 
lullaby  to  him,  one  that  her  dear  old  mother  had  sung  to 
her  in  that  long  ago.  Soon  the  little  fellow  was  asleep. 

The  two  beautiful  women  did  not  speak  again  for  some 
time.  The  long  day  slowly  faded  on  the  mountains.  The 
scarlet  sun  banners  died  away,  a  mellow  rosy  light  shone 
for  a  few  moments  from  behind  the  glorious  sky-line 
of  the  Great  Hills,  followed  by  a  soft  white  glow.  TEen 
swift  fell  the  mantling  darkness  and  out  tripped  the  stars; 
led  by  lustrous  Venus,  who  beamed  like  a  tiny  sun  full 
upon  the  breast  of  the  western  horizon,  just  above  the 
dark  blue  sky-line  of  the  mountains.  At  that  instant 
the  electric  street  lights  started  up  with  a  sharp  hiss 
and  splutter. 

"  Doctor  to  see  you,  my  lady  Fiorina,"  announced  the 
nurse,  turning  on  the  current  of  the  tiny  night  bulb, 
and  rearranging  the  pillows  about  her  charge's  head  and 
shoulders. 

In  doing  so  she  glanced  sharply  at  Mrs.  Dodge.  The 
sweet  faced  lady  of  St.  Andrew's,  tightly  clasping  the 
form  of  little  Peter,  was  lost  in  a  beautiful  dream.  Un 
der  the  sharp  glance  of  the  nurse  she  slowly  awoke, 
and  rising  from  her  chair  she  carried  the  sleeping  child 
across  the  room  and  laid  him  upon  his  own  little  bed, 


506        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

then  returning  she  kissed  Fiorina  fondly  and  turned  to 
go. 

"  Good  night,  sweet  ladee.  Come  'gain  tomorrow," 
Fiorina  called  after  her. 

Mollie  did  not  reply,  save  to  look  back  and  smile  re 
assuringly  as  she  passed  thru  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"Standish,  you're  a  darn  blithering  idiot,"  such  was  the 
greeting  which  uncle  Davy  Moore  addressed  to  the  General 
Manager  of  the  Denver,  Northwestern,  and  Salt  Lake. 

"Why,  yes.  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!"  laughed  Standish  in  high 
glee,  as  his  associate  extended  his  hand  and  pulled  him 
into  the  waiting  carriage  at  the  station.  And  as  they 
drove  up  Seventeenth  Street,  Davy  leaned  over  to  him 
and  said  in  a  much  better  natured  tone : 

"Nicest  little  thing  you  ever  saw,  sonny,  looks  just 
like  her  mother.  A  regular  little  Dago,  and  Old  Gari 
baldi  Ferrari  is  as  proud  as  a  peacock.  Say,  honest  now, 
what  you  going  to  name  her?" 

"Why,  Fiorina,  of  course,  you  old  inquisitive.  Babe 
and  I  had  that  fixed  over  a  year  ago.  Gee  whiz!  I — I 
really  didn't  expect  it  so  soon,"  he  added,  blushing  like 
a  girl  under  uncle  Davy's  admiring  eyes. 

David  Moore  never  spent  a  happier  spring  than  that 
of  1903.  He  almost  renewed  his  youth.  Altho  the 
financiering  and  the  building  of  the  Short  Line  was  the 
greatest  event  of  his  long  and  useful  career  as  a  loyal 
Coloradoan,  yet  it  was  by  no  means  the  most  important 
event  chronicled  in  the  depths  of  his  great  loving  heart. 
Often  in  the  presence  of  domestic  joys  the  great  world 
of  business  fades  as  a  dream. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night,  Standish  walked  softly 
from  the  library  into  the  sacred  chamber. 

In  this  room  was  his  all.  This  was  the  bosom  of  his 
family. 

Upon  the  threshold  he  paused  for  a  moment  as  if  to 
silently  return  the  salutations  of  sentinel  angels. 

The  night  bulb  was  burning  dimly,  and  gently  he 
crept  to  the  side  of  her  who  had  proved  the  most  blessed 
of  wives. 

507 


508        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

She  was  asleep.  Her  sweet  child  face,  caressed  by  her 
dark  luxuriant  tresses,  was  but  a  little  older  than  when 
he  had  first  held  her  in  his  arms  in  the  dark  gray  vault 
of  the  40  Rounds,  after  her  miracle-like  journey  thru 
the  wildness  and  whiteness  of  that  fearful  winter  night, 
and  from  which  she  had  emerged  as  his  beautiful  bride. 

Stooping,  he  pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  brow,  and  as  she 
slowly  opened  her  dark  lustrous  eyes,  and  seeing  who  it 
was,  she  reached  up  and  pulled  his  head  down  upon  her 
bosom  as  she  had  done  in  that  long  ago.  Releasing  him, 
she  turned  to  the  little  pile  of  blanket  and  fleece  at  her 
side  and  softly  raised  the  coverlet;  together  there  in  the 
dim  light,  husband  and  wife  gazed  silently  at  their  little 
one  curled  up  in  its  cozy  nest. 

"  Our  leetle  Fiorina,"  was  all  the  wife  could  say,  then 
she  tucked  in  the  coverlet. 

"  Good  night,  little  one,"  said  the  husband. 

"Go  to  bed,  beeg  man,"  she  replied,  and  kissing  him 
once  more,  she  sank  to  sleep  upon  her  pillow. 

Standish  turned  from  the  bedside  of  his  wife  and  new 
born  babe  to  that  of  his  little  son. 

His  own  dear  little  Peter.  With  his  long  brown  locks 
and  cupid  lips,  half  smiling  in  his  sleep  as  tho  his  dreams 
were  pleasant.  Standish  gased  at  him  fondly  for  a  mo 
ment  with  parental  instinct  tucking  him  in  a  little  more, 
and  as  he  did  so,  the  same  thought  that  he  had  expressed 
to  Solomon  Guggenhone  came  suddenly  to  his  mind. 

"What  is  POSSESSION?" 

Ah!  Great  and  All  Glorious  God! 

This — this  was  possession,  living  in  the  pure  and 
sacred  bosom  of  one's  family. 

This  was  Life's  full  brimming,  joyous  cup,  compared  to 
which  all  else  was  wormwood. 

Peasant  or  king. 

Millionaire  or  common  laborer. 

Divine,  God  given,  sacred  bosom  of  one's  family. 

The  mine  owner  retired  to  his  chamber,  knelt  by  his 
bedside  and  prayed, 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        509 

The  petition  introduced  within  his  soul,  the  God  of 
Abraham,  of  Jacob,  of  Moses,  and  of  Daniel. 

He  saw  the  Immaculate  Son. 

He  beheld  the  angelic  choir  of  Heaven,  and  heard  their 
songs  and  fervent  hallelujahs. 

He  arose  illumed  and  deeply  reverent,  his  soul  filled 
with  divine  humbleness  and  meekness. 


BOOK   V 

THE  VISITATION  OF  THE  TEN  THOUSAND  MOUTHS 


CHAPTER    I 

By  1905,  succumbing  to  the  appalling  and  irresistible 
advance  of  American  Plutocracy,  most  of  Colorado's 
great  state  enterprises  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  East 
ern  capital.  Shortly  after  Theodore  Dodge's  notable 
battle  with  John  Wreckor  Grabbe,  Colorado  Steel  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  Rockefellers  and  the  Goulds,  and 
absolutely  helpless  in  their  hands,  Dodge  was  well  con 
tent  to  manage  the  concern  in  the  interests  of  these  prin 
cipals.  Colorado  Sugar  had  become  a  mere  appendage  of 
the  Havemeyers.  Most  of  the  state's  larger  mining  con 
cerns  had  long  since  fallen  under  the  control  of  foreign 
investors.  The  smelting  interests  had  remained  solidly 
with  the  Guggenhones.  The  packing  industry  was  a  bag 
atelle  in  the  hands  of  the  Armours,  the  Swifts,  and  the 
Cudahys ;  and  the  other  industrials  and  commercials,  such 
as  biscuit,  condensed  milk,  wool,  groceries,  lumber,  and 
building  materials,  were  under  the  almost  exclusive  con 
trol  of  Eastern  concerns. 

Tho  Denver's  water,  tramway,  gas-electric,  and  tele 
phone  systems  were  largely  bonded  by  Eastern  capital,  yet 
the  control  was  still  held  by  a  small  coterie  of  local  men. 

It  can  be  truly  said  then,  that  both  the  city's  and  the 
state's  greatest  enterprise,  the  Salt  Lake  Short  Line,  was 
almost  the  last  rallying  ground  of  patriots;  and  even 
then  the  hope  was  not  of  saving  it  for  local  control,  but 
"Build  it,  build  it;  no  matter  who  controls  it,"  was  the 
battle-cry,  and  to  that  end  David  Moore  was  exhausting 
every  effort.  The  battle  was  telling  on  him  sorely  these 

511 


512        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

times.  In  almost  daily  conversations  with  Standish,  he 
was  growing  ever  more  thin  and  spiritual,  but  his  great 
wistful  eyes  setting  far  back  in  his  grand  old  head,  seemed 
to  grow  brighter  and  to  challenge  either  singly  or  unit 
edly  all  his  foes. 

Once  when  Standish  betrayed  by  a  particularly  anxious 
glance  his  trepidation  and  concern  for  his  associate's 
physical  condition,  one  of  those  rare  smiles,  ever  the  de 
light  of  the  old  banker's  friends,  illumed  the  patriarchal 
features  of  uncle  Davy  and  he  said  musingly: 

"I'll — I'll  never  rust  out,  my  dear  by,  I'll  wear  out; 
and  that's  the  way  to  go,"  and  Standish  understood. 

These  were  the  trying  days  when  that  colossus  of  the 
railroad  world,  Harrimjan,  was  adding  web  after  web  of 
steel  to  his  vast  network  of  the  nation's  highways.  "All 
the  more  reason  why  I  should  eat  you  up,"  seemed  to 
be  his  wolf  challenge  to  the  Colorado  Wasps,  who,  stalled 
again  and  again  in  the  Eastern  money  markets  by 
this  dread  scourge  of  finance,  were  often  at  their  wit's 
end  for  funds  to  keep  the  road  going. 

On  one  memorable  occasion  and  stung  to  the  quick  by 
the  pathetic  tale  of  uncle  Davy,  Standish  phoned  orders 
to  the  superintendent  of  the  40  Rounds  to  set  loose  the 
long  stored  up  ores  of  the  property  and  ship  them  to 
the  smelters.  Every  other  resource  of  ready  funds  had 
been  exhausted  and  for  some  time  it  had  been  rumored 
in  certain  inner  banking  circles  that  even  the  National 
First  itself  was  staggering  under  the  weight  of  the  road. 

The  resumed  shipment  of  the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds  re 
sulted  in  a  wholly  unexpected  event  in  the  fortunes  of  the 
Short  Line,  and  incidentally  effecting  a  peculiar  com 
promise  between  the  leading  characters  of  this  volume. 

Within  twenty-four  hours  of  the  first  shipment  of  ore 
made  by  the  40  Rounds,  Solomon  Guggenhone  had 
knowledge  of  it.  It  interested  him  hugely. 

"  Somebody's  back  is  broke,  I  guess,"  was  his  quiet  sol 
iloquy. 

Then  it  dawned  on  him. 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         513 

4 

Dear  old  uncle  Davy  and  his  heroic  battle  for  the 
Short  Line. 

Could  he,  Solomon  Guggenhone,  as  a  loyal  Coloradoan, 
see  this  grand  old  man  lose  out  ?  But  this  stubborn  puri 
tanical  Brown,  with  his  vaunted  independent  smelter 
ideas?  Breaking  tho,  breaking,  these  ore  shipments 
proved  that  conclusively.  Ah!  A  master  stroke  1  Win 
Brown,  by  supporting  the  Short  Line,  and  avaunt,  ye 
rival  smelter. 

Several  days  later,  Solomon  Guggenhone  called  on 
Standish  Brown  at  the  general  offices  of  the  Short  Line. 

"Sometime  since  we  have  met,  Mr.  Brown,"  was  his 
genial  remark  as  he  accepted  the  proffered  chair. 

"That's  true,  Mr.  Guggenhone,"  was  the  quiet  reply, 
as  the  miner  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  and  gazed 
questioningly  into  the  unfathomable  eyes  of  his  visitor. 

"  I  have  looked  in  vain  for  the  appearance  of  that  new 
smelter,  Mr.  Brown,"  continued  Solomon  almost  face 
tiously,  "and  noting  that  you  have  condescended  to  ship 
some  of  your  ores  to  us  of  late,  I  take  it  that  you  have 
given  up  the  project." 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  I  have  learned  within  the  past 
week,  that  one  of  the  best  things  which  can  happen  to 
a  man,  is  to  learn  the  quality  and  sweetness  of  humble 
ness,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

"Uncle  Davy?"  said  Solomon  questioningly,  with  a 
touch  of  tenderness  in  his  voice. 

"I  won't  say  that.  It  isn't  fair,"  replied  Standish, 
with  a  sense  of  stern  protest  in  his  voice,  "But  I  will 
say,"  he  continued  earnestly,  "that  any  man  who  claims 
to  be  a  true  citizen,  a  philanthropist,  an  aspirant  for 
senatorial  honors,  and  a  state  builder,  such  as  I  under 
stand  you  claim  to  be,  who  can  allow  this  dear  old  man, 
whose  lifelong  ambition  and  effort  has  been  to  put  Den 
ver  on  the  transcontinental  map  of  the  United  States,  to 
be  slowly  crushed  and  throttled  by  his  enemies,  and  those 
enemies  the  worst  enemies  of  the  state,  should  hide  his 
face  in  shame." 


514        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

This  was  pretty  strong  talk,  but  Solomon  only  sat  and 
smiled.  Then  he  said  quietly: 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Mr.  Brown,  that  until  you  be 
gan  shipping  ore  to  us,  I  had  not  suspected  that  the  situ 
ation  was  so  bad.  Smelting  has  been  my  exclusive  line, 
Mr.  Brown,  and  thru  a  quiet  understanding  effected  be 
tween  us  a  long  time  ago,  David  Moore  has  tended  to  his 
particular  line,  and  I  mine.  In  the  future,  however,  I 
am  going  to  branch  out.  Denver's  grand  old  man  shall 
not  go  down  to  defeat  in  as  laudable  and  noble  an  enter 
prise  as  his,  if  it  takes  the  resources  of  our  whole  family." 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  if  you  will  do  this,  I — I  won't  say 
that  I'll  never  try  to  build  a  smelter,"  replied  Standish 
with  an  amused  smile,  as  tho  the  smelter  had  become  a 
standing  joke  between  them,  "but  I  will  say,  that  if  it  is 
your  ambition  to  become  a  senator  and  a  state  builder,  you 
will  truly  have  earned  that  office  and  title,  and  deserve 
the  praise  and  support  of  every  loyal  Coloradoan." 

The  little  Jew  was  very  happy  that  night.  For  many 
years  he  had  longed  for  just  such  a  chance,  just  such  a 
field  of  action.  The  smelter  was  a  thing  of  the  past  with 
him.  It  was  now  a  tremendous  and  perfectly  working 
machine,  destined  to  keep  in  order  and  continue  to  run 
on  and  on  as  a  permanent  industrial  of  the  nation.  Its 
organization  and  perfect  operation  was  a  sufficient  triumph 
for  any  man,  as  things  are  looked  upon  in  the  world  of 
trade  and  commerce.  The  head  of  one  of  the  greatest 
industrials  of  the  world,  and  that  triumph  won  long  be 
fore  he  was  forty;  and  yet,  there  actually  seemed  to  be 
another  life  ahead  of  him,  of  equal  length,  and  every 
year  of  it  increasing  the  ripeness  of  his  experience,  with 
a  great  fortune  to  dispense  the  fruits  of  that  experience. 

Yes,  he  felt  that  there  was  something  far  greater  to 
strive  for  now ;  more  satisfactory,  more  substantial.  Some 
thing  possessing  loftier  ideals ;  that  would  yield  increasing 
sentiment,  love,  charity,  and  the  goodwill  of  men  and 
women ;  far  more  than  merely  to  be  a  cog-wheel  of — as  he 
was  often  wont  to  say — one  of  Roosevelt's  good  trusts. 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE        515 

To  be  a  state  builder,  perhaps  a  senator.  That  sound 
ed  good.  And  here  was  the  way. 

He  began  to  feel  a  real  friendship  and  sympathy  for 
Standish  Brown.  Altho  feeling  that  he  had  his  adver 
sary  floored  temporarily,  yet  he  felt  that  it  was  only 
commercially  speaking,  and  that  he  had  met  a  man 
whom  he  could  greatly  appreciate  in  that  larger  life  he 
was  beginning  to  realize  was  his  future  field  of  action. 
A  life  in  which  such  men  as  bore  the  stamp  of  the  hon 
est  miner  must  participate  or  the  nation  was  lost.  He 
had  never  forgotten,  that  the  one  suggestive  remark  of 
this  sturdy  son  of  the  West:  "What  is  possession?"  had 
helped  to  launch  his  thought  on  a  higher  plane,  and  he 
realized  in  Brown's  frank  confession  of  humbleness,  in 
the  matter  of  the  recent  shipment  of  the  ores,  that  no  soul 
is  so  unconquerable  or  so  strong  as  the  one  that  can  con 
fess  its  defeats  and  still  fight  on. 

Within  a  week  Short  Line  bonds  were  in  steady 
demand  under  the  paternalism  of  the  Guggenhones,  and 
its  stock  rose  steadily. 

"Standish!  Standish!  The  battle  is  won,  dear  boy," 
exclaimed  uncle  Davy  one  bright  spring  morning,  as  he 
handed  his  associate  a  telegram  from,  his  New  York 
brokers. 

"There's  nothing  to  it  now,  my  boy,"  the  old  man  con 
tinued  in  a  happy  vein,  "but  build — build ;  on — on,  into 
the  golden  West." 

"Good,  Davy,"  was  the  miner's  pleased  and  quiet 
comment  as  he  gripped  the  thin  worn  hand  of  the  banker, 
and  at  that  moment  if  Solomon  Guggenhone  could  have 
seen  the  flash  of  kindred  delight  and  sentiment  which 
passed  between  them,  he  would  have  thought  himself 
even  greater  than  a  state  builder. 

Standish  never  told  David  of  Solomon's  generous  ac 
tion  until  it  became  officially  known  that  the  little  Jew 
was  an  active  candidate  for  senator.  For  evident  reasons 
the  ores  of  the  40  Rounds  are  still  shipped  to  the  plants 
of  the  American  Smelter  Co.,  altho  Standish  still  stub 
bornly  declares  to  Solomon  Guggenhone,  that  the  pro- 


516        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

ject  of  the  new  smelter  is  still  a  possibility  never  to  be 
abandoned;  in  answer,  the  little  Jew,  who  is  now  a  sen 
ator,  laughingly  declares  he  is  out  of  the  smelting  business 
and  claims  he  would  be  pleased  to  see  the  mine  owner 
make  a  success  of  his  proposed  enterprise. 

Several  important  factors  were  working,  however,  in 
the  lives  of  these  two  men  at  this  time,  which  might  in 
the  roll  of  the  grim  portentious  years,  develop  to  such  a 
magnitude  as  to  wholly  overshadow  this  ancient  bone  of 
contention;  for  often,  principle,  the  thing  uppermost  in 
Standish  Brown's  mind  in  this  smelter  issue,  mounts 
from  minor  to  major  things ;  from  individuals  to  nations ; 
and  is  often  vindicated  in  the  mass,  where  it  fails  or 
rather  is  lifted  from  the  individual,  and  made  the  com 
mon  cause  of  a  whole  people. 

Religious  liberty,  burned  in  the  flames  of  Smithfield  in 
the  person  of  John  Rogers,  was  made  a  common  cause 
and  a  successful  one,  by  the  whole  English  nation. 


CHAPTER  II 

In  1907,  Solomon  Guggenhonc  was  elected  United 
States  Senator  from  Colorado,  and  today,  after  a  thoro 
digest  of  the  journals  and  newspapers  and  the  hearing  of 
certain  personal  reminiscences  of  the  times  by  well  known 
citizens  thruout  the  state,  the  whole  affair  can  be  well 
summed  up  by  quoting  the  congratulatory  words  af 
forded  the  senator  elect  by  a  charming  young  society  bud 
of  Denver:  "How  clever  of  you,  Solly." 

Clever,  because  his  henchmen  had  bought  up  the  bank 
rupt,  defunct,  and  disorganized  Republican  machine,  re 
organizing  and  perfecting  it,  until  the  machinery  ran  as 
smooth  in  its  way  as  the  Guggenhone  smelter.  Clever, 
because  Solly  himself  had  scarcely  removed  his  dainty 
gloves  or  gotten  one  awry  wrinkle  in  the  set  of  his  im 
maculate  trousers  during  the  entire  campaign.  Clever, 
because  most  of  the  people  of  the  state  had  apparently  ac 
cepted  his  candidacy  for  just  what  they  thought  it  was 
worth — his  money.  Clever,  because  the  men  wrho  fought 
him  had  so  much  money  themselves,  that  their  powder 
smoke  rolled  back  and  smothered  their  fire.  Clev6r,  be 
cause  the  powerful  Short  Line  crowd  could  not  be 
coaxed  or  persuaded  from  his  enthusiastic  support.  Clever, 
because  he  had  bravely  clung  to  the  coat  tails  of  the 
popular  Teddy  Roosevelt  and  been  carried  across  the  line 
with  him,  an  easy  winner. 

It  was  in  vain  that  opposing  orators  thundered  the 
prostitution  of  the  state  by  the  Smelter  Trust — for  some  of 
the  orators  owned  smelter  stock  and  the  people  knew  it; 
that  public  conscience  must  be  awakened  or  Colorado 
would,  as  certain  journalists  had  declared,  be  put  in  the 
same  disreputable  class  as  Montana  and  Delaware,  for 
some  of  the  orators  wanted  a  wealthy  senator  to  employ 
their  matchless  art — and  the  people  know  it;  that  the 

517 


518         THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

days  of  the  republic  had  ceased  and  the  reign  of  the 
Caesars  was  about  to  begin,  for  some  of  the  orators  itched 
for  the  lucre  of  the  Caesars — and  most  of  the  people  did 
too.  Julius  Caius  was  never  so  popular  as  when  handing 
out  spoil  to  the  mobs  of  Rome. 

And  so  the  election  was  held,  the  votes  counted;  and 
not  a  Guggenhone  man  who  was  really  expected  to  win, 
lost  out.  Later  the  legislature  met  in  joint  session,  and 
after  listening — amid  the  jibes  and  jeers  of  a  packed  gal 
lery — to  an  impassioned  and  eloquent  protest  by  a  mem 
ber  from  the  Western  Slope,  against  the  selection  of  the 
smelter  magnate  to  the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the 
state,  the  legislature  calmly  proceeded  to  the  election  of 
that  much  villified  and  maligned  citizen,  Solomon  Gug 
genhone,  as  the  new  member  from  Colorado  to  the  senate 
of  the  United  States. 

Under  the  smiling  front  of  the  senator  elect  upon  that 
memorable  day,  however,  was  a  soul  aflame  with  the 
fiercest  emotion.  The  immortal  stage  was  the  storm  cen 
ter  of  battling  Titans,  and  the  mightiest  of  these  was — 
MONEY.  For  in  spite  of  the  many  other  important 
factors  in  his  political  success,  which  appeared  upon  the 
great  stage;  Reciprocity,  Goodwill,  Regular  Party  En 
dorsement,  Personal  Popularity,  etc.;  yet  the  great  fact 
that  his  election  was  popularly  supposed  to  be  brought 
about  because  he  was  a  great  spender  and  that  he  couldn't 
have  been  elected  without  the  spending  of  large  sums  of 
money,  maddened  him  almost  beyond  endurance. 

And  there  was  the  monster  fawning  at  him  now,  as  if 
he  instead  of  the  man  was  the  true  victor.  But  the  man's 
imperious  will  launched  forth  the  lash,  and  the  great 
beast  cringed  and  whimpered  at  his  feet.  Really,  it  had 
conquered  in  this  affair  of  the  senatorship.  Its  offal 
tossed  out  as  heaps  of  spoil  to  the  soiled  hands  that 
clutched  and  devoured  it  with  unholy  lust,  even  as  the 
master  clinked  the  shackles  on  the  slaves. 

"My  God!  My  God!"  groaned  the  brave  little  Jew, 
"  Truly  this  commonwealth  needs  a  guardian,  when,  pre 
senting  a  front  of  high  reared  granite  to  the  nation  in 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        519 

its  mighty  chain  of  cloud-kissed  peaks,  its  people  seem  to 
be  a  heap  of  sand.  Bear  upl  Bear  up!  True  heart  of 
Israel,  and  give  Thy  servant  strength." 

Long  ago  in  the  midst  of  his  strenuous  business  career 
he  looked  upon  the  office  of  senator  as  an  attainment 
worthy  a  citizen's  ambition,  and  keeping  in  close  touch 
with  the  political  situation  in  the  state  as  part  of  the  field 
of  his  life,  he  little  dreamed  that  the  success  of  office  was 
so  largely  a  matter  of  spending  money  upon  that  famous 
business  basis  of  the  Yankee ;  the  great  tho  simple  science 
of,  "You  tickle  me  and  I'll  tickle  you." 

He  had  known,  of  course,  that  the  game  of  politics 
was  replete  with  chicanery,  jobs,  machines,  lucre,  and 
the  like,  but  he  had  never  doubted  that  the  state  was  really 
under  the  safe  and  true  dominion  of  the  people's  will, 
and  that  will  he  believed  to  be  surcharged  with  their 
highest  civic  virtue  and  morality.  But  this  terrible 
awakening.  This  mockery.  In  truth,  the  prize  he  had 
won  was  a  booby.  Instead  of  arousing  his  keenest  aspira 
tions  to  serve  a  great  and  noble  people,  as  was  his  original 
idea,  he  now  felt  more  like  a  physician  groaning  with  de 
spair  at  the  bedside  of  a  patient  dying  with  a  disease 
which  wholly  baffled  him.  Doubtless  almost  the  whole 
state,  both  men  and  women,  put  squarely  on  the  issue 
of  Decency  vs.  Money;  and  behold  —  Decency  fades  as 
a  dream;  and  revealed  a  people  apparently  frankly 
and  sincerely  proud  of  their  ability  to  elect  a  senator 
whose  great  wealth  it  was  hoped  he  would  disburse  among 
them.  Had  there  been  the  least  semblance  of  a  struggle, 
the  senator  would  have  taken  a  different  view,  but  from 
the  very  start  it  had  been  apparently  only  a  question  of 
njoney ;  and  as  his  was  the  biggest  pile  in  sight,  the  greedy 
mob  at  the  polls  fairly  struggled  to  elect  his  henchmen. 

If  ever  Solomon  Guggenhone  was  great,  and  in  that 
hour  he  was  indeed  truly  great,  it  was  when  he  left  the 
Centennial  State  bound  for  the  National  Capitol,  de 
termined  that  if  it  were  within  his  power,  and  he  earnestly 
appealed  to  his  God  in  Israel  for  that  power,  he  would 
endeavor  to  reinstill  within  the  minds  of  the  people  of 


520        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

Colorado,  that  virtue,  morality,  and  sterling  honesty  that 
he  was  wont  to  dream  of  in  the  days  of  his  youth  as  consti 
tuting  the  bulwark  and  strength  of  a  free  democracy. 

Slowly,  however,  as  he  neared  the  capitol,  a  decided 
change  appeared  in  the  current  of  his  thought. 

Ah !  How  silly  of  him  to  have  missed  it.  It  was  not 
to  have  judged  his  election  wholly  by  those  who  had  voted 
for  him,  for  the  mob  is  always  in  the  majority,  and  at 
the  call  of  money,  but  to  have  judged  his  election  by  the 
minority  which  had  voted  against  him,  plus  those  ele 
ments  of  the  majority  which  he  felt  were  legitimately 
and  rightly  his;  and  in  this  instance,  while  his  election 
had  been  as  easy  as  a  great  ship  slipping  into  tide-water 
upon  the  smoothest  of  ways,  yet  the  minority  which  had 
voted  against  him  was  undoubtedly  a  healthy  one,  and 
final  judgment  upon  the  suffrage  of  his  state  he  vowed 
must  not  be  passed  until  that  minority  had  been  thoroly 
analyzed;  and  this,  after  the  first  formalities  of  his  pres 
entation  to  his  colleagues  of  the  senate  were  over,  the 
new  senator  made  his  first  duty. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  1908  Standish  was  still  the  constructive  head  of  the 
Short  Line;  his  subordinates  had  the  road — every  west 
ward-reaching  mile  of  it  —  thoroly  in  hand,  and  as  fast 
as  David  Moore  released  the  required  capital,  the  work 
was  advertised  for  bids,  contracts  let,  and  the  road  ad 
vanced  steadily. 

These  were  the  years  of  reaction  following  those  active 
ly  anticipative  and  enthusiastic  ones  which  marked  the 
beginning  of  the  Short  Line.  Both  David  and  Standish, 
now  that  the  strained  financial  period  of  the  enterprise 
had  passed,  and  ample  funds  were  in  sight  to  advance 
the  road,  confessed  themselves  decidedly  apathetic,  spirit 
less,  and  dull.  Fiorina  and  the  children  alone  keeping 
them)  from  almost  fossilizing.  David,  however,  much 
older,  having  experienced  and  long  since  passed  the 
critical  years  of  middle  age,  and  occasionally  visiting 
friends  in  the  East,  appeared  much  easier  and  more  com 
fortable  than  Standish,  who  was  gradually  taking  upon 
himself  a  fierce  and  violent  unrest. 

The  miner's  wealth  was  beginning  by  this  time  to  ac 
cumulate  so  rapidly  that  he  began  to  be  thoroly  fright 
ened.  During  the  years  of  his  active  management  of 
the  Short  Line,  he  had  scarcely  troubled  himself  as  to  the 
annual  appraising  and  accounting  of  his  estate,  -as  had 
long  been  his  custom,  for  during  that  period  it  had  only 
been  a  persistent,  and  at  times,  a  desperate  effort  to  scrape 
up  his  ready  funds  from  all  sources  and  sink  them  into 
the  bonds  of  the  road  to  assure  its  steady  march  west 
ward.  Now,  with  the  improved  financial  situation,  how 
ever,  the  road  was  in  a  position  to  liquidate  its  bonds  at 
will;  while  its  stock,  large  blocks  of  which  had  been 
given  Standish  as  pure  bonus  with  every  purchase  of 
bonds,  and  had,  therefore,  cost  him  nothing,  was  now 

521 


522        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

quoted  at  high  figures  on  the  street,  resulting  in  a  large 
fortune  out  of  this  little  dreamed-of  investment,  and  one 
which  he  had  scarcely  thought  of  beyond  the  value  of 
his  purchased  bonds  and  the  interest  thereon.  Another 
item  almost  entirely  overlooked  by  him,  was  the  payment 
of  his  full  and  generous  salary  for  services  rendered  the 
road,  and  which,  since  the  inception  of  the  enterprise  up 
to  this  time,  he  had  refused  to  draw,  owing  to  the  scarcity 
of  funds.  Then  the  enormous  returns  from  the  smelters 
of  the  long-stored  up  ores  of  the  40  Rounds,  constituted 
a  generous  fortune  in  itself.  Upon  several  of  his  down 
town  Denver  properties,  huge  sky-scrapers  were  now  being 
erected  and  piling  up  fabulous  real  and  lease  values  under 
the  powerful  impetus  and  wonderful,  tho  natural,  growth 
of  the  city ;  and  those  thousands  of  acres  of  coal  and  min 
eral  lands,  purchased  years  ago  at  minimum  figures,  merely 
to  supply  the  needs  of  his  proposed  smelter,  were  now  in 
active  demand  as  valuable  grazing  and  farming  lands, 
the  transformation  having  been  accomplished  by  new 
and  improved  irrigating  systems;  bringing  wonderful  of 
fers  for  them  by  bona  fide  settlers,  as  well  as  speculators, 
who  were  willing  that  he  should  wholly  reserve  the  coal 
and  mineral,  and  sell  the  surface  rights  only.  Also  scarce 
ly  a  month  passed  by  but  that  he  was  the  recipient  of 
a  new  issue  of  stock  by  one  or  another  of  the  great  cor 
porations  of  the  West,  the  fruit  of  Colonel  Rose's  invest 
ments,  made  years  ago,  amounting  to  gifts  pure  and 
simple,  adding  their  generous  quota  to  the  now  heavily- 
swollen  volume  of  his  ever-accumulating  fortune. 

Stenographer  after  stenographer,  clerk  after  clerk,  had 
been  added  to  his  private  office  force  since  his  departure 
from  Plume,  and  his  business  suite  had  increased  to  such 
proportions  that  it  now  occupied  the  entire  upper  floor  of 
one  of  the  city's  recently  erected  skyscrapers.  It  was  almost 
impossible  for  him  at  this  time  to  treat  his  large  acquaint 
ance  with  his  old-time  cordiality,  such  was  the  demand 
that  business  made  upon  him.  He  had  long  since  passed 
that  period  of  a  millionaire's  career  in  which  the  training 
and  services  of  talented  and  efficient  assistants  had  be- 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        523 

come  necessary.  He  employed  several  capable  secretaries, 
and  they  had  assistants  under  them.  The  revenues  from 
his  great  mine,  which  had  made  this  large  fortune  pos 
sible,  were  still  as  generous  as  ever,  and  had  not  the 
owner  been  so  completely  overwhelmed  with  the  vastness 
of  it  all,  he  would  have  smiled  with  contempt  at  the  poor 
pittance  of  the  40  Rounds  as  compared  with  his  other 
sources  of  wealth. 

In  comparison  with  the  many  other  notable  battles 
fought  within  his  troubled  soul,  this  one  of  the  frightful 
ly  increasing  fortune  was  as  a  Gettysburg  compared  with 
a  mere  bushwhacking  skirmish.  Day  after  day,  weeks 
and  months,  passed  in  fearful  mental  anguish,  with 
only  the  company  of  his  wife  and  children  to  remind  him 
that  he  was  still  sane  and  in  full  possession  of  his  facul 
ties;  and  in  the  end,  he  was  forced  to  admit,  in  full 
agreement  with  all  other  of  those  of  our  American  mil 
lionaires  who  are  conscientious,  and  who  have  been  placed 
in  a  similar  position,  that  from  a  perfectly  legitimately 
made  fortune  of  modest  proportions,  such  as  his  orignially 
was,  mined  honestly  and  purely  from  a  mountain  by  the 
sweat  of  his  brow,  had  sprung  a  Frankenstein  of  frightful 
proportions,  threatening  to  devour  him  body  and  soul. 
There  had  not  been  the"  slightest  intent  to  do  wrong.  In 
fact,  for  years  his  had  been  that  common  battle  of  many 
of  our  millionaires,  that  of  defending  one's  honest  rights 
in  trade  and  commerce,  even  at  times  battling  for  one's 
very  financial  existence.  The  early  railroad,  smelter, 
John  Charles  Rose,  and  the  Short  Line  battles,  were  all 
legitimate  and  commendable  struggles  for  what  he  deemed 
was  right,  and  yet,  to  this  appalling  and  terrifying  end 
—  a  millionaire.  One  of  a  class  ostracized  and  alone.  A 
class  who  are  no  more  a  part  of  the  plain  people  of  this 
Republic  than  oil  is  water,  and  who,  according  to  the 
extent  of  their  millions,  are  doomed  to  perish,  unloved, 
unsung,  and  unhonored  by  the  masses,  even  by  those  who 
have  been  paid  the  most  liberal  wages  in  assisting  in  the 
creation  and  maintenance  of  the  monster. 


524        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

With  a  man  less  conscientious  than  Standish  Brown, 
all  would  have  been  lost.  The  Frankenstein  would  have 
claimed  its  victim,  and  another  blazing  comet  vomited 
forth  from  the  sun  of  Mammon  would  have  fallen  scream 
ing  thru  space,  only  to  be  ground  to  powder  in  its  time  by 
the  shattering  spikes  of  the  mill-wheels  of  careening 
worlds  of  humanity. 

Steadfast,  however,  and  by  prayer  and  fasting,  advanc 
ing  thru  the  gloom  and  darkness  toward  his  God,  Stan- 
dish  attained  a  distant  height  in  one  of  the  deep  recesses 
of  his  soul,  on  which,  for  one  brief  instant  of  the  day, 
the  sun  of  Truth  shone  upon  him  and  gave  him  hope. 
Daily  he  sought  that  spot,  and  as  the  light  swept  down 
upon  him  in  its  instant's  passage,  he  implored  with  out 
stretched  arms  for  that  help  which  God  alone  can  give. 
Presently  he  noted  that  the  light  lingered  a  trifle  longer 
each  day,  and  with  redoubled  effort  he  sought  and  ap 
pealed  to  the  mercy  of  his  Creator. 

Then  came  the  dread  hour  of  his  visitation. 

A  phenomenon  which  appears  only  within  the  soul  of 
a  millionaire,  and  which,  when  the  fatal  moment  of  his 
MAGNIFICATION  has  come,  warns  him  in  the  name 
of  the  Most  High  God,  "Reduce  thyself,  or  perish  I" 

It  seemed  to  Standish  that,  Night,  the  Cimmerian  night 
of  the  ages,  engulfed  him  in  a  frightful  smother  of  chok 
ing  blackness. '  Suddenly,  he  heard  a  terrifying  gnawing 
sound  as  tho  an  army  of  rodents  were  gnawing  their  way 
toward  him.  Presently,  a  dim  light  appeared,  and  by  it, 
and  becoming  more  terrified  each  moment  at  the  sound 
of  the  awful  "gnaw,  gnaw"  of  the  on-coming  army,  it 
seemed  to  him  that  he  built  a  stout  stockade  of  logs,  and 
at  the  very  moment  he  completed  it  the  army  of  gnawing 
rodents  reached  it  and  attacked  it  with  ominous  fury. 
Spurred  on  by  the  fury  of  the  attack,  and  for  further  pro 
tection,  he  made  himself  a  substantial  quadrangle  of 
brick  and  mortar.  Great  drops  of  perspiration  fell  from 
him  as  he  toiled,  but  by  a  supreme  effort  he  finished  it 
and  threw  himself  within  it  completely  exhausted,  only  to 


THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE         525 

be  startled  a  moment  later  by  the  sound  of  the  crashing 
and  falling  of  the  wooden  stockade,  and  a  frightful 
swarming  of  the  rodents  as  they  dashed  to  the  attack  of 
the  brick  wall. 

"My  God  1  Can  it  be  possible,"  he  groaned.  And  yet, 
there  it  was,  that  fearful  "gnawing —gnawing,"  even 
at  the  brick  wall. 

In  a  few  hours  it,  too,  would  be  eaten  thru  and  thru. 

His  next  defense  was  a  quadrangle  of  stone  and  cement. 
How  he  ever  lived  to  build  it,  he  knew  not,  but  it  was 
accomplished,  and  he  sank  within  it,  after  he  had  placed 
the  last  stone,  utterly  prostrated.  He  then  slept,  he  knew 
not  how  long,  but  as  he  awoke  he  heard  the  walls  of  the 
brick  quadrangle  fall  with  a  crash,  and  a  moment  later 
he  heard  those  terrible  teeth  grating  and  grinding  in  their 
onslaught  on  the  stone  walls.  Instinctively  he  felt  that  it, 
too,  must  succumb.  Only  a  vault  of  chilled  steel  could  re 
sist  their  ravenous  attack,  and  spurred  on  by  his  appalling 
situation  he  began  the  forging  of  the  vault. 

Gloatingly,  he  thought  as  he  toiled,  of  how  their  teeth 
would  crack  and  splinter  upon  the  steel  sides  of  the  vault. 
He  was  calm  as  he  finished  it.  A  victory,  and  rest  from 
his  tortures. 

Presently  the  stone  wall  fell,  and  he  felt  the  terrifying 
press  of  the  gnawing  thousands  against  the  cold  steel  of 
the  vault. 

How  he  gloated  and  rubbed  his  hands  'in  glee  as  he 
heard  their  teeth  splinter  and  crack  upon  its  impenetrable 
surface.  Then  fell  an  ominous  silence,  followed  by  a 
tiny  "creak  —  creak,"  and  the  sides  of  the  vault  began 
to  vibrate  slightly. 

"My  God!"  he  screamed  in  wildest  terror,  "they  are 
drilling."  Feeling  that  he  was  doomed,  and  gathering  his 
remaining  senses  together,  he  remembered  that  it  must 
be  time  for  the  appearance  of  that  one  sweeping  ray  of 
light  which  had  been  his  single  solace  thru  this  long 
misery  of  night.  He  determined  that  the  instant  it  ap 
peared  thru  the  grating,  he  would  step  forth  and  meet 
the  terrible  fate  that  was  pursuing  him.  The  light  soon 


526        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

appeared,  he  swung  the  door  open,  and  almost  blinded  in 
the  glare,  he  faced  his  enemies. 

They  were  mouths  —  human  mouths. 

Thousands  of  them.    A  wall  of  them  on  every  hand. 

Mouths  of  flawless  beauty.  Mouths  of  hideous  malevol 
ence.  Mouths  of  the  innocent;  of  suffering;  of  poverty; 
of  sorrow,  and  the  cruel  pinch  of  wrongs.  Mouths  of 
angels;  of  prostitutes;  of  evil  and  of  good.  Beautiful 
mouths,  smiling  the  benediction  of  the  Holy  Ones. 
Mouths  gnashing  and  foaming  the  rage  of  devils.  Mouths 
of  pity  and  of  love;  of  fathers  and  mothers,  and  of  fair 
and  innocent  babes  and  children ;  yet  all,  wreathed  in  an 
expression  of  terrible  rebuke  and  menace,  pressed  closer 
toward  their  victim,  who  stood  helpless  and  aghast. 

Teeth  there  were,  white  as  alabaster  and  firm  as  ada 
mant.  Teeth  tushed  as  a  boar's  and  yellow  as  amber. 
Teeth  of  hags,  and  the  first  teeth  of  purling  infants. 
Teeth  sweet  with  gums  of  coral  and  scented  with  rare 
spices  of  Cathay.  Teeth  black  and  rotten  with  decay  and 
coated  with  revolting  colonies  of  disgusting  and  noisome 
tartars. 

Lips  there  were.  Lips  upon  which  a  bee  would  have 
sighed  and  died  in  a  despair  of  unutterable  sweets.  Lips, 
too,  lecherous  and  foul,  whose  touch  would  have  withered 
and  blasted  the  strongest  and  fairest  youth.  Sweet  and 
true  and  firm  lips  of  wives;  soft,  velvety  lips  of  young 
mothers ;  melting  and  intoxicating  lips  of  shy  and  tender 
maidens;  strong,  muscular,  insistent  and  bold  lips  of 
swelling,  leaping  manhood.  Quavering,  trembling  lips  of 
old  age  and  imminent  dissolution;  carmine-edged  lips  of 
sin  and  prostitution. 

There  were  jaws  also,  tiny  jaws  of  infants,  fit  only  to 
cling  and  suckle  a  blushing  breast ;  jaws  which  crunched 
and  clacked  the  miseries  and  horrors  of  prisons  and  hovels. 
Jaws  which  could  have  throttled  the  strongest  bull  and 
out-fanged  the  fiercest  lion.  Jaws  toothless  and  gummed 
with  ulcers  and  disease.  Jaws  curved  matchless  as  the 
love  cup  of  hair-veiled  Venus,  and  whose  blood-hued  open 
ings  were  as  glorious  as  the  scarlet  rose  dews  of  the  shining 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        527 

morn,  and  whose  tendriled  depths  as  tempting  as  the 
quivering  scented  bulbus  of  the  passionate  pomegranate. 
Jaws,  too,  bristling  the  sabre  edge  of  hate  and  venom; 
jaws  merciless  as  Satan.  On  every  hand  they  were,  and 
dim  thousands  of  them  seen  afar,  all  grinding  and  gnash 
ing  the  death  knell  of  their  victim. 

Suddenly  a  voice  was  heard: 

"We  are  the  mouths  of  the  Ten  Thousand  Livings 
which  you  are  consuming.  Feed  us,  or  be  thyself  con 
sumed." 

The  oracle  of  Truth  had  spoken. 

When  Standish  awoke  from  this  spectacle  he  was  in 
possession  of  the  truth  and  the  crime  of  his  situation  as 
a  millionaire. 

Millionaire,  thy  name  is  LEGION. 

A  millionaire  can  never  be  accepted  of  his  fellowmen 
as  a  man,  until  he,  too,  like  the  Gadarene,  is  purged  of 
his  multitude. 

He  is  not  a  man.  He  has  become  a  superman.  A 
colossus.  An  army,  turned  loose  upon  and  ravaging  a 
helpless  people. 

A  millionaire  is  the  consumer  and  absorber  of  the 
rightful  livings  of  many  people,  of  many  human  units. 

A  monstrosity  swelled  and  magnified  from  the  one 
legitimate  human  unit  which  he  originally  was,  into  thou 
sands  of  illegitimate  human  units. 

When  a  multimillionaire  eats,  he  eats  the  substance  of 
ten  thousand  mouths.  When  he  sleeps,  he  sleeps  in  ten 
thousand  beds.  When  he  removes  his  hat,  puts  on  his 
clothes,  or  performs  any  personal  act  whatsoever,  he 
does  it  in  the  magnitude  of  ten  thousand  human  units. 

He  may  be  ever  so  abstemious,  in  fact,  actually  eat 
ing  mere  crusts  of  bread.  But  behold!  Tho  he  eats  but 
the  crust,  the  ten  thousand  hungry  mouths  robbed  of  that 
crust,  snap  jaws  in  anger  and  hatred;  ten  thousand  pairs 
of  eyes  look  frightful  askance  at  the  monster  consuming 
their  rightful  inheritance. 


528        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

These  ten  thousand  livings  may  not  really  exist  in  the 
flesh,  but  in  the  minds  of  men  they  DO. 

Set  a  millionaire  in  the  midst  of  a  community  of  ten 
thousand  people,  and  scarcely  a  one  but  thinks,  "How 
grown  so  great?  By  what  right  is  he  so  magnified  be 
yond  me?" 

These  ten  thousand  human  units,  with  concentrated 
thought  are  secretly  or  openly  coveting,  protesting,  ques 
tioning,  or  philosophizing  the  magnitude  of  a  millionaire ; 
and  he  becomes  a  subtile  —  tho  generally  a  wholly  un 
conscious  one  —  soul  poisoner  and  Borgia  of  a  whole 
community,  a  curse  unto  himself  as  well  as  to  his  fellow- 
men;  and  his  fortune  the  breeder  of  countless  colonies 
of  evil  thoughts,  the  most  terrible  of  which  is  ANARCHY, 
the  fearful  offspring  of  ENVY  and  PROTEST,  and 
raised  up  against  those  unfortunates  who  have  allowed 
themselves  to  grow  beyond  one  legitimate  human  unit. 

Tho  a  millionaire  may  be  employing  and,  in  his  eyes, 
supporting  a  hundred  thousand  workmen,  and  the  fam 
ilies  dependent  thereon.  Tho  he  may  be  giving  thousands 
of  his  wealth  to  the  poor.  Yet,  just  so  long  as  he  clings  to 
his  millions,  he  magnifies  himself  in  proportion  and  be 
comes  responsible  to  those  units  of  living,  which,  by  reason 
of  his  opulence,  he  has  robbed. 

Who  are  the  poor,  and  why  are  they  poor? 

This  is  the  eternal  curse  of  the  millionaire. 

As  long  as  we  have  the  poor,  there  can  be  no  peaceful 
head-rest  for  the  millionaire.  He  is  the  Cain  of  the  in 
dustrial  world,  and  walks  daily  in  the  sight  of  God  and 
man,  with  the  deadly  mark  of  the  slaughterer  upon  his 
brow. 

No  man  raises  himself  above  the  common  people  and 
the  common  living,  but  at  the  price  of  other  livings  than 
his  own,  and  every  one  he  so  usurps,  grabs,  or  absorbs, 
becomes  a  fatal  Nemesis,  pursuing  him  to  the  gates  of 
death;  and  at  the  judgment  denouncing  to  a  just  God, 
the  unholy  robbery. 

A  man  is  but  one  at  the  gates  of  heaven,  just  as  he 


THE     THEATRE    TERRIBLE         529 

should  be  but  one  in  the  world  of  men.  How  can  that 
man  enter,  who  has  magnified  himself  beyond  it? 

"  Verily,  I  say  unto  you,  it  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go 
thru  a  needle's  eye,  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter  into  the 
Kingdom  of  God." 

The  camel  is  the  beast  burdened  with  the  hoarded  ten 
thousand  livings  of  the  millionaire.  The  needle's  eye  is 
the  narrow  gate  of  heaven,  allowing  but  one  to  enter  at 
a  time ;  and  self  evident  to  the  warder  is  the  guilt  of  the 
owner  of  the  camel,  who,  failing  to  enter  with  his  hoard, 
falls  backward  into  hell. 

Lazarus,  in  the  bosom  of  Abraham,  was  only  one  of 
the  wronged  ten  thousand  mouths  of  his  time,  and  hell 
will  continue  to  be  filled  with  millionaires,  until  that 
time  comes  when  they  will  descend  unto  the  common  level 
and  divert  and  devote  their  fortunes  to  a  common  purse, 
which  will  insure  to  every  human  unit  on  this  earth,  a 
living  equal  unto  themselves. 

Man  has  at  last  attained  that  period  of  history  and 
human  -progress,  when  to  assume  and  enjoy  more  of  a 
living  than  that  of  his  fellowmen,  is  absolutely  criminal. 

The  lone  philosophers  and  sages  of  all  the  ages  and 
peoples  of  the  earth  have  never  failed  to  point  out  the 
folly  and  the  evil  of  riches  and  the  delights  of  honest 
poverty;  but  the  masses  of  the  past,  largely  corrupted 
themselves,  have  never  heeded  or  realized,  and  have  al 
ways  basely  and  foolishly  aspired. 

But  now  the  MASS  itself,  while  becoming  largely  and 
wholesomely  philosophized,  is  also  becoming  practically 
and  intelligently,  yet  appallingly  insistent;  and  the  terri 
fying  moment  now  hovers  and  close  approaches  when 
the  awful  Boa  of  Humanity,  which  clutches  the  world 
within  its  deadly  coils,  will  slowly  raise  its  hideous  head, 
and  peering  with  implacable  eyes  over  the  rim  of  the 
world,  open  its  abysmal  jaws  as  the  doors  of  a  cyclopean 
furnace,  and  with  devouring  tongues  of  flame,  scorching 
the  spaces  of  the  high-soaring  stars,  swallow,  with  a 
mighty  tremor  and  nauseating  scale  rustling  constriction 
that  will  crack  the  very  ribs  of  the  planet,  that  vile  image 


530        THE    THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

of  the  modern  golden  calf  —  PLUTOCRACY ;  which, 
thru  all  the  ages  of  humanity,  has  slowly  prepared  itself 
for  this  last  and  most  terrible  catastrophe,  having  smeared 
itself  unwittingly,  for  the  successful  swallowing  of  the 
Boa,  with  the  slippery  saliva  of  Sloth  and  Corruption. 

It  is  now  a  fact,  and  a  glorious  surpassing  truth,  that 
to  be  a  millionaire,  is  to  be  a  criminal  civilly,  as  well  as 
morally.  In  the  flight  of  the  centuries  the  state  is  at  last 
attaining  the  level  of  ethics. 

Yesterday,  Plutocracy  cracked  its  whip  and  the  slaves 
bent  to  the  task  and  groaned. 

Today,  Plutocracy  cracks  the  whip,  and  the  slaves 
protest. 

Tomorrow,  Plutocracy  will  crack  its  whip,  and  men, 
for  they  will  be  slaves  no  longer,  will  laugh. 

The  most  terrible  of  men  is  the  man  who  laughs,  for 
his  laughter  is  but  the  brimming  flagon  of  his  hate. 

Benvenuto  Cellini  in  dungeoned  San  Angelo,  despair 
ingly  thrusting  his  poniard  into  his  mouldy,  rotting  mat 
tress,  laughed  as  he  imagined  he  was  splitting  the  belly 
of  the  Pope. 

"I  am  the  state,"  said  Louis  XIV,  yet  the  royal  heads 
of  his  successors  fell  to  the  ground  like  heaps  of  cabbages. 

"WE — we,  under  God,  our  Father,  are  the  state," 
shall  be  the  watchword  of  the  Masses  in  their  hour  of 
victory,  and  that  state  shall  endure  to  the  end  of  the 
world,  and  shall  know  no  bounds  or  limits  but  the  ex 
tremes  of  the  world  itself. 

Millionaireism  is  the  latest  phase  of  SELF  seeking  to 
usurp  the  powers  and  kingdom  of  the  UNSELF  —  GOD. 

It  is  the  last  and  most  feeble  and  vainest  effort  of  the 
ancient  serpent  of  Mammon  to  creep  into  the  lap  of 
heaven. 

After  the  millionaires,  what? 

The  prophet  answers,  the  millennium  of  the  PEOPLE ! 


CHAPTER    IV 

The  two  years  since  his  election  had  treated  Solomon 
Guggenhone  kindly.  Beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt  he  had 
safely  arrived  with  the  senate,  and  in  conjunction  with 
his  recently  elected  colleague,  a  man  of  the  most  spot 
less  personal  character  and  of  the  highest  repute,  both 
in  the  state  and  nation,  Colorado  was  ably  and  brilliantly 
represented  in  the  highest  legislative  hall  of  the  Republic, 

Solomon  had  attempted  nothing  sensational  or  bom 
bastic  in  representing  his  constituency.  The  fruits  of 
his  long  years  of  experience  in  the  financial  and  social 
circles  of  the  nation  were  invaluable  to  him  in  the  ad 
ministration  of  his  new  office.  Washington  society  could 
offer  him  nothing  more  than  he  had  long  enjoyed,  and  the 
atmosphere  of  the  senate  could  scarcely  show  him  more  dig 
nity  and  decorum  than  which  he  had  long  since  observed 
and  practiced  in  the  parlors  of  the  best  financial  institu 
tions  of  the  land,  and  in  the  close  and  intimate  association 
with  the  greatest  business  men  and  savants  of  the  nation. 
In  fact,  there  were  times  during  the  discussions  of  the  sen 
ate  when  he  felt  that  the  atmosphere  of  the  counting- 
house  was  decidedly  superior;  but  on  those  grave  and 
solemn  occasions  when  the  destiny  of  the  Great  Republic 
was  to  a  large  degree  being  shaped  by  the  members  of 
the  upper  house,  and  the  very  winged  spirit  of  the  nation 
seemed  present  and  hovering  with  eagle  pinions  in  the 
spiritual  presence  of  those  immortals  convened  there  thru- 
out  the  most  momentous  periods  of  the  world's  greatest 
constituency  of  free  people,  the  little  Jew's  heart  swelled 
within  him  and  his  eyes  sparkled  the  delight  of  being  a 
member  of  so  august  an  assembly. 

Unassuming,  modest,  yet  absolutely  loyal  and  fair 
to  every  interest  reposed  in  him  by  the  citizens  of  the 
state,  he  strove  to  represent  them  in  the  full  meaning  of 

531 


532        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

the  term,  yet  also  to  conform  strictly  to  the  customs  of 
both  houses  and  the  administration.  He  was  a  regular 
party  man  when  irregularity  merely  represented  vague 
and  extreme  measures;  but  for  everything  bearing  the 
stamp  of  real  progress  and  demonstrable  utility,  he  earn 
estly  strove  with  due  regard  for  all  parties  concerned. 
His  private  establishment  in  the  capitol  ranked  with 
the  best,  housing  a  man,  his  wife,  and  family  in  full 
keeping  with  their  social  rank  and  fortune.  He  had  at 
the  time  of  his  election,  announced  that  he  had  severed 
all  connection  with  his  former  business  interests  and 
would  devote  himself  exclusively  to  the  affairs  and  wel 
fare  of  the  people  of  Colorado.  This  announcement  he 
fulfilled  in  every  way,  spending  much  of  his  time  in  the 
state  and  studying  the  needs  of  its  people.  The  faithful 
representation  of  his  constituency  he  earnestly  seconded 
with  philanthropy ;  and  several  of  those  institutions  whose 
needs  he  had  failed  to  relieve  thru  legislation,  he  suc 
cored  with  his  private  purse.  The  host  of  enemies  which 
had  sprung  up  against  him  during  his  campaign  for  office, 
largely  disappeared  in  the  light  of  his  faithful  representa 
tion  and  generous  philanthropy,  and  even  his  bitterest 
foes  acknowledged  that  he  had  gone  far  toward  winning 
the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  that  with  due  tenure  of  of 
fice  the  state  might  expect  and  realize  great  things  of 
him. 

His  careful  and  elaborate  investigation  as  to  those  ele 
ments  which  constituted  the  vote  of  the  minority  in  his 
election,  thoroly  convinced  him  that  the  larger  portion 
of  it  was  made  up  of  a  sincere  and  conscientious  protest 
against  the  election  of  a  millionaire  to  public  office. 

He  rejoiced  at  this  discovery  for  two  reasons. 

First,  the  state  was  wholly  and  grandly  vindicated  as 
to  the  charge  of  its  enemies  that  it  was  grossly  corrupted 
and  mammonized. 

Second,  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  win  by  true  and  faith 
ful  service,  these  same  votes  in  the  event  he  should  seek 
re-election. 

To  the  demands  of  that  large  majority,  however,  whicU 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

had  effected  his  election,  he  paid  generous  largess,  but 
not  to  that  extent  which  was  anticipated.  To  every  absurd 
and  unreasonable  demand  he  administered  an  honest  re 
buke,  which  was  generally  admitted  by  the  recipient  to 
be  just,  even  tho  it  stung,  and  there  had  been  as  yet  no 
contrary  evidence  presented  but  that  the  majority  of  his 
constituents  were  fully  satisfied,  and  would  continue  to 
loyally  support  him  to  the  end  of  his  political  career. 

In  the  full  light  of  his  election,  therefore,  and  the  cir 
cumstances  attendant,  he  found  himself  perfectly  at  ease, 
and  confidently  believed  with  his  loyal  supporters,  that 
viewing  the  political  situation  from  every  side,  he  had 
won  his  office  with  as  clean  hands  as  could  be  expected  of 
any  one  who  plays  the  game  of  politics;  and  dismissing 
the  event  wholly  from  his  mind,  he  had  entered  upon 
his  senatorial  career  with  that  full  vigor  and  earnestness 
for  which  his  race  is  justly  noted. 

Upon  his  recent  arrival  in  Denver  he  was  attracted 
by  a  newspaper  item,  stating  that  the  Standish  Browns 
had  changed  their  residence,  and  he  noted  that  the  new 
address  given  was  in  a  distant  part  of  the  city,  in  a  dis 
trict  which  he  well  knew  was  occupied  almost  exclusively 
by  working-men.  As  he  had  been  upon  particularly  good 
terms  with  Standish  since  his  generous  paternalism  in 
the  affairs  of  the  Short  Line,  he  determined  to  visit  him 
at  his  new  residence  and  observe  for  himself  the  family 
life~  of  a  man  in  whom  he  confessed  he  was  deeply  in 
terested.  He  made  the  call  early  one  Sunday  afternoon, 
his  driver  stopping  his  car  in  front  of  a  modest  cottage, 
which,  with  the  exception  that  it  was  newly  built,  was 
of  the  same  class  of  dwellings  as  the  balance  of  the  row. 

Ferrari  wras  on  the  front  porch  when  the  car  stopped, 
smoking  his  pipe  and  watching  the  children  at  play  in 
the  yard.  Returning  the  senator's  nod  with  his  usual  mil 
itary  salute,  he  ushered  him  into  the  tiny  parlor  and 
called  the  head  of  the  house. 

"My  dear  senator,  I  am  delighted  at  this  call,"  was 
Standish's  hearty  greeting,  as  he  grasped  the  proffered 
hand  warmly.  "  Saw  by  the  papers  you  were  in  town, 


534        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

Come,  let's  sit  by  the  fireplace;  and,  besides,  I  want  you 
to  meet  my  wife,"  and  ushering  his  guest  into  a  small 
but  comfortable  living  room,  where  a  bright  coal  fire 
was  burning  in  a  plain  brick  grate,  he  seated  him,  and 
excusing  himself  for  a  moment,  re-entered  the  room'  with 
the  shy  Fiorina. 

"Mr.  Guggenhone,  this  is  my  wife.  Fiorina,  this  is 
the  Senator,"  he  said  cordially. 

"Welcome  to  our  house,  Meester  Senator,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure,  and  adding  with  her 
delightful  archness  of  manner,  "We — we  be  very  plain 
people  now.  Capitol  Hill  too  much  for  us  and  we  mofe 
here.  Bye  and  bye,  Meester  Brown,  he  show  you  'round. 
We — we  do  lofe  this  leetle  house,  Meester  Senator.  We 
are  so  happy  and  zee  people  all  'round.  What  you  call 
'em.  Ah!  Yes,  zee  neighbors — they  are  so  nice,"  and 
continuing  in  this  vein  for  a  few  moments  she  excused 
herself  and  left  them  to  themselves. 

"  Mr.  Brown,"  began  the  senator  abruptly,  after  a  brief 
chat  on  politics  and  the  issues  of  the  day,  "What  does  all 
this  mean?  This — er,  this  abandoning  of  gay  Capitol 
Hill  for  a  cottage  among  the  working  men  of  North 
Denver?  You  see,  Brown,"  he  continued  with  mock 
gravity,  "in  my  official  capacity  as  a  member  of  the  upper 
house  of  congress,  it  is  my  duty  to  inquire  into  the  state 
and  condition  of  my  constituents,  and  believe  me,  there 
are  none  who  interest  me  more  than  yourself.  I  repeat, 
what  does  it  mean?" 

"  Just  trying  to  get  back  and  in  touch  with  the  plain 
people  is  all,  Senator.  You  see,"  and  here  the  great  honest 
eyes  of  the  speaker  looked  up  at  him  in  almost  pathetic 
wistfulness,  "I  simply  got  swamped  in  this  money  making 
business.  It  was  beginning  to  make  a  mere  thing  out  of 
me;  a  mere  mechanical  thing  of  dollars  and  dividends, 
and  this  move  of  mine,  while  it  may  appear  very  foolish 
to  you,  is  just  a  desperate  effort  to  pull  up  and  get  away 
from  it  all ;  to  at  least  show  that  I  don't  want  to  be  more 
set  up  or  live  any  better  than  just  the  plain  people." 

"  I  think  I  see  your  point  clearly,  Brown,  I  have  often 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         535 

felt  that  way  myself;  but  do  you  really  think  you  are 
clearing  up  the  question  of  social  equality  even  tho  you 
have  shown  which  side  you  are  on;  and  making  a  move 
with  a  certain  air  of  fiction  about  it,  will  hardly  be  swal 
lowed  by  your  so  called  plain  people,  think  you?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  claim  that  I  have  solved  that  great  and 
vexatious  problem  by  any  means,  my  dear  fellow,  but 
feeling  that  I  wanted  to  be  what  I  once  was,  a  plain  work 
ing-man,  without  palaver  and  a  houseful  of  domestics,  I 
sought  peace  in  this  move.*  You  know  I  was  a  miner  once, 
Senator,  up  there  at  Plume.  I  had  friends  then,  for  I 
was  just  one  of  the  boys.  I  have  none  now,  Senator,  save 
a  scattered  few  of  my  business  associates  in  town  here  and 
the  most  of  them  gradually  getting  into  deeper  water:  all 
except  uncle  Davy  of  course  who  comes  to  see  us  almost 
every  day,  and  who,  by  reason  of  his  grand  and  unselfish 
efforts  for  Colorado,  is  a  privileged  character  even  to  the 
rankest  anarchist  in  town.  True,  I  occasionally  meet 
one  of  the  boys  from  Plume,  but  something's  wrong, 
Senator,  the  old  feeling  isn't  there.  It's — it's  the  money, 
Senator,  I'm  not  a  miner  now;  I'm  a  millionaire,  and 
who  can  truly,  without  prejudice  and  distrust,  call  me 
friend,  save  perhaps  another  millionaire.  It's  the  same 
feeling  that  Win  Stratton  had  about  his  membership  card 
in  the  carpenter's  union  of  Colorado  Springs.  He  told 
me  once,  that  he  cared  more  about  that  piece  of  cardboard 
than  he  did  for  the  whole  Independence  mine.  There's 
my  old  miner's  union  card  framed  over  the  fireplace.  I 
treasure  it  as  a  certificate  of  membership  in  the  ranks  of 
the  plain  people,  even  tho  I  realize  those  days  may  never 
return,  for  just  as  long  as  I  am  rich  I  can  never  qualify 
again." 

"  You  are  endowed  with  much  sentiment  I  see,  Brown. 
Tho  I  am  willing  to  confess  that  I  too,  often  miss  that 
little  touch  of  nearness  and  kinness  to  the  common  people. 
Yet  knowing  that  I'm  a  millionaire,  I  jog  ahead  and  am 
content  to  do  the  best  I  can.  I  have  always  felt  a  good 
deal  like  Swedenborg  about  wealth.  If  one  worships 
wealth  for  wealth's  sake,  assuredly  he  is  doomed.  But 
if  he  holds  his  wealth  in  subjection  and  uses  it  as  a 


536        THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE 

steward,  holding  his  mind  open  to  truth  and  goodness 
and  the  needs  of  his  fellowmen,  he  is  as  eligible  to  heaven, 
or  to  speak  in  a  more  worldly  sense,  as  eligible  to  the 
love  of  his  fellowmen  as  any  one  else.  I  believe  I  have 
that  true  feeling  of  stewardship,  and  it  is  a  power  of 
strength,  perhaps  the  greatest  strength  that  a  rich  man 
can  possess.  I  have  grown  to  believe  of  our  rich  men,  as 
Roosevelt  once  said  of  trusts,  that  some  are  good  and  some 
are  bad.  I  try  to  be  one  of  the  good  ones.  But  philan 
thropy  is  a  difficult  thing  to  dispense.  In  my  own  ex 
perience,  I  have  managed  to  get  rid  of  a  bunch  of  money 
now  and  then  in  that  cause.  But  it  hardly  counts.  You 
can  dedicate  all  the  buildings,  endowments,  and  funds 
you  want  to,  but  it  really  doesn't  appeal  to  the  people 
much.  You  are  still  the  millionaire,  and  they  the  people. 
They  look  upon  those  things  as  merely  monuments  to 
millionaires.  The  other  day  in  Cheesman  Park,  I  over 
heard  one  plasterer  say  to  another,  'This  is  Walt  Chees- 
man's  widow's  now.  It  uster  be  Congress  Park  when  you 
and  I  worked  on  that  Bentley  job,  Bill.  Its  mighty  purty 
tho,  en  I  don't  blame  Walt's  widow  fer  givin'  the  city  a 
hundred  thousand  fer  to  change  the  name.  It  was  a 
dammed  good  speculation  so  fer  as  monuments  are  con 
cerned.'  'That's  right,  Jim,'  said  the  other  fellow,  'but 
it'll  always  be  Congress  Park  to  me  en  you.  En  besides, 
Jim,  in  them  days  we  could  drive  thru  the  Park  to  and 
from  our  work,  en  now  we  haz  to  drive  around  it,  fer  they 
won't  let  no  wagons  go  thru  at  all  now,  only  autos  and 
joy  riders.'  This,  this  is  the  feeling  we  can't  overcome, 
Brown.  It's  all  monuments  to  them.  I'm  afraid  the 
common  people  will  always  be  the  common  people,  and 
millionaires  will  always  be  millionaires;  and  the  greatest 
thing  we  can  expect  of  both  parties  in  this  generation  is, 
that  they  will  help  each  other  and  be  friends." 

"You  Jews  can  readily  affirm  that,  Senator,  for  you 
sit  in  the  saddle  of  wealth  easily  and  naturally.  And  if 
there  is  anything  in  riches,  the  Jew,  he  of  the  martyred 
race,  should  enjoy  that  privilege  above  all  the  peoples  of 
the  earth.  Thru  long  persecution  and  the  brutal  injustice 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        537 

» 

of  your  fellowmen,  you  were  compelled  in  years  past  to 
accumulate  fortunes  for  your  very  self  protection,  and 
with  those  fortunes  you  are  perfectly  at  home  and  at  all 
times  their  masters.  But  I,  on  the  other  hand,  am  a 
Puritan;  and  Puritans  are  as  unused  to  an  excess  of 
material  wealth  and  as  out  of  place  with  it  as  a  fish  out 
of  water.  If  it  were  possible,  it  would  be  far  better  for 
me  to  awake  penniless  tomorrow,  and  with  my  two  hands 
earn  a  common  living,  rather  than  rest  under  the  burdens 
and  responsibilities  of  my  wealth.  After  long  deliberation 
I  have  set  myself  down  among  the  plain  people  to  at  least 
show  my  good  intentions;  and  if  I  live  long  enough, 
please  God,  I  hope  to  find  some  solution  of  the  problem 
aside  from  my  hopes  to  at  least  be  a  faithful  steward." 

"You  Puritans  have  always  appealed  to  me,  Brown. 
Their  model  was  that  of  the  most  heroic  type  of  our  peo 
ple.  They  are  the  Maccabees  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race. 
They  preserved  the  liberties  of  England  and  were  the  bul 
wark  of  this  republic  both  in  its  infancy  and  in  its  greatest 
crisis.  How  many  times  in  my  political  career  have  I 
thought  of  what  their  power  would  be  if  the  occasion 
should  again  arise  to  unite  them  in  a  common  cause. 
That  that  day  will  come  I  truly  believe,  and  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  from  the  days  of  William  the  Silent  and 
Oliver  Cromwell  to  this  very  hour,  these  two  peoples  have 
been  in  the  closest  sympathy  and  working  the  greatest 
reforms.  It  has  been  my  fondest  hope  that  here  in  this 
wonderful  Colorado,  the  heart  and  the  crown  of  America, 
we  could  found  a  civilization  in  conjunction  with  every 
church,  creed,  sect,  and  people  of  our  commonwealth, 
and  which  for  lack  of  a  better  term,  I  call  the  CIVILIZA 
TION  of  the  JUST  EQUATION;  which  would  remove 
from  all  poor  men  the  distress  of  Poverty  and  from  all  rich 
men  the  curse  of  Mammon.  I  believe  that  with  the  wonder 
ful  cosmopolitan  population  of  our  state,  comprising  repre 
sentatives  of  nearly  all  the  peoples  of  the  earth,  we  can  here 
produce  that  dream  of  ancient  Israel,  a  commonwealth, 
"  Where  every  man  shall  sit  under  his  own  vine  and  fig 
tree;  and  none  shall  make  him  afraid."  To  accomplish 


538        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

« 

this  I  believe  good  millionaires  are  necessary,  and  by  a 
good  millionaire  I  mean  a  good  steward ;  a  man  who  can 
so  devote  and  administer  his  fortune  as  to  aid  and  emanci 
pate  his  rich  brethren  from  the  predatory  barbarism  of 
Mammon,  and  his  poorer  brethren  from  the  pinch  and 
tyranny  of  Poverty.  David's  Israel  was  too  poor  materially, 
tho  rich  spiritually.  Solomon's  too  rich  materially,  too 
poor  spiritually.  What  we  need  is  an  Israel  rich  enough 
materially  to  adequately  support  the  greater  structure  of 
spirituality.  Tho  people  little  dream  of  it,  and  tho  it 
would  be  folly  to  thus  pose,  yet  for  this  cause,  Mr.  Brown, 
I  paid  the  price  of  politics  and  bore  all  the  infamous 
charges  and  slanders  of  the  campaign,  that  I  might  be 
come  a  factor  in  the  founding  of  this  newer,  this  purer, 
this  better  and  greater  civilization.  Nourished  in  the 
bosom  of  the  freest  people  of  the  world,  the  Swiss,  my 
father  before  me  dreamed  of  a  world  Switzerland,  a  world 
republic,  a  world  Israel;  and  here  within  the  shadow  of 
the  Rocky  Mountains,  the  Alps  of  America,  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  I  am  his  son  and  that  my  life  is  dedicated 
to  that  same  cause.  And  if  here  within  the  sacred  walls  of 
your  cottage  you  will  pledge  me  to  endeavor  to  rouse  the 
Puritan  spirit  of  our  state  to  this  end,  I  will  pledge  you 
my  fullest  efforts  to  arouse  the  spirit  of  Judah;  and  that 
together  we  can  interest  the  leaders  of  all  the  other  im 
portant  peoples  and  bodies  of  our  people  to  this  desired 
end."  And  rising  to  his  feet  with  the  dauntless  spirit  of 
his  race  shining  from  his  eyes  he  offered  his  hand  to 
Standish  Brown. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  describe  the  feelings  of 
the  man  from  Plume  at  this  moment.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  all  the  vast  fellowship  hunger  of  his  tortured  soul 
leaped  forward  to  embrace  the  little  Jew,  but  controlling 
himself,  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  covered  the  proffered  hand 
with  both  his  own. 

"I  see  and  am  delighted  to  know  that  you  too  have 
plans,  have  ideas,  a  multitude  of  them,"  exclaimed  the 
senator  as  he  stepped  into  his  car,  "Sift  them  down  to 
practicabilities  as  near  as  you  can,  and  at  the  very  earliest 
moment  communicate  with  me  and  we  will  begin  the 


THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE         539 

work.  Ah!  My  dear  friend,  you  have  made  a  noble 
beginning.  A  greater  thing  I  could  ask  of  no  man.  It 
impresses  me,  and  I  am  sure  it  must  impress  the  world 
at  large.  I  credit  you  with  having  anticipated  me  in  this 
respect — hero  beginning  the  new  civilization,  a  million 
aire  abandoning  his  palace  and  dwelling  in  a  cottage. 
Perhaps — perhaps,  my  dear  fellow,  that  great  smelter 
which  in  times  past  you  were  so  determined  to  build,  is, 
after  all,  a  smelter  of  human  hearts,  the  hearts  of  a  whole 
world's  people,  which  smelted  and  refined  in  the  crucible 
of  human  experience,  at  last  melts  down  under  the  watch 
ful  eye  of  a  loving  God,  to  shining  gold — TRUTH,  the 
saviour  of  th@  world." 


Outside  and  wholly  secondary  to  the  basic  idea  of  this 
volume,  is  plainly  presented  herein  the  spectacle  of  how  in 
nocently  a  man  can  begin  with  merely  his  two  hands  and 
legitimately  and  honestly — as  such  things  have  been 
judged  in  the  past — acquire  a  large  fortune.  Also  it  is 
shown  as  plainly  and  convincingly,  the  irresistible  sweep 
of  American  Plutocracy  across  the  Colorado  land  during 
the  last  decade,  as  doubtless  it  has  similarly  swept  the 
Great  Republic  in  general. 

Let  no  man  dream  that  the  day  of  the  CLASSES  is  not 
here  and  never  will  be  here. 

For  it  is  here. 

It  is  neither  going  or  coming,  but  is  here,  NOW,  this 
very  hour. 

But  this  matter  of  the  Classes  is  not  going  to  be  a  repeti 
tion  of  that  bloody  old  struggle  of  Plebeian  and  Patrician, 
Baron  and  Serf,  Papist  and  Roundhead,  Royalist  and 
Republican. 

Great  Lady  of  Jerusalem  will  never  again  eat  the  offal 
of  dogs,  or  peasant  Maid  of  Orleans  melt  to  spirit  in  the 
flames  of  Rouen. 

The  treading  of  the  wine-press  of  the  nations  and  the 
peoples  shall  no  longer  yield  Blood,  but  rather  rare  sweet 
wine  of  Peace  and  Justice. 


540        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

The  American  Masses  will  never  become  a  nation  of 
servants  serving  an  iniquitous  Plutocracy. 

No! 

The  American  Masses  will  emerge  from  history  a  free 
and  enlightened  people,  and  if  there  be  servants,  the 
greatest  of  them  will  be  America's  millionaires,  toiling 
and  sweating  in  the  treadmill  of  their  colossal  and 
terrifying  fortunes,  with  the  grim  vulture  of  Anarchy 
feeding  on  their  livers  as  fed  the  eagle  on  that  of  Prome 
theus,  in  the  exact  proportion  that  they  fail  to  meet  the 
responsibilities  of  the  faithful  stewardship  of  those  same 
fortunes. 

The  American  working-man  now  knows  as  well  as  he 
knows  that  he  has  life  and  a  free  unconquerable  soul, 
that  he  has  a  Sustainer,  a  Partner,  a  Protector — ONE  who 
is  GOD! 

And  the  American  plutocrat  also  knows  that  to  trifle 
with  his  responsibilities  as  the  steward  of  millions  of 
wealth,  is  invoking  the  wrath  of — ONE  who  is  GOD ! 

It  has  taken  humanity  the  full  course  of  history  to 
learn  this,  but  it  knows  it  now,  and  can  never  revert. 

Once  in  the  travail  of  the  new  born  world,  when  even 
the  archangels  of  heaven  failed  to  quell  the  warring  ele 
ments  of  seething  tides  and  bellowing  tempests,  a  voice 
suddenly  sounded  in  the  all-encompassing  vault  of  the 
universe,  and  every  element  of  nature  hung  limp  and 
prostrate,  and  every  living  thing  fell  prone. 

" Be  STILL,  and  know  that  I  am  GOD!  !  I"  reverber 
ated  the  dreadful  sound  in  the  deathless  calm  of  the  awful 
abyss  of  the  Mysteries;  and  here  in  America,  with  this 
reverberating  voice  of  the  Eternal  One  echoed  in  the  song 
of  the  Psalmist,  and  re-echoing  on  in  the  ears  of  all  hu 
manity;  we  know  that  HE  is  GOD,  and  woe  betide  the 
betrayer  of  His  word. 

No~  nation  is  better  than  the  mass  of  its  people. 

The  gate  of  the  sheepfold  closes  not  until  the  weakest 
as  well  as  the  strongest  of  the  flock  have  entered. 

Nations  like  sheep  have  leaders,  and  while  the  Deity 
holds  closely  responsible  those  leaders  for  acts  of  corrup 
tion,  yet  there  is  another  vital  principle  at  work  in  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        541 

development  of  nations;  which  is,  that  the  people,  the 
masses,  must  also  resist  corruption. 

Thus  the  weak  as  well  as  the  strong  have  their  full 
responsibility,  and  upon  the  ability  and  the  effort  of  each 
and  every  one,  rests  the  integrity  of  the  nation  as  a  whole. 

Gradually  America's  millionaires,  groaning  under 
their  superhuman  responsibilities  and  shrinking  with 
horror  from  the  life  of  Legion  and  Hybrid,  will  part  from 
their  millions. 

Those  millions  absorbed  by  the  masses,  will  gradually 
raise  the  standard  of  living  to  that  point  where  poverty  is 
unknown  and  riches  scorned. 

In  that  sweet  millennium  day,  the  soul,  freed  from  the 
thrall  of  SELF  will  bask  in  the  golden  sun  of  the  UN- 
SELF  and  dwell  with  God  in  the  bosom  of  Serenity. 

And  in  that  day,  for  the  first  time  since  Man's  creation, 
will  the  material  republics  of  the  world  catch  the  spirit 
of  that  glorious  INNER  REPUBLIC  of  Man,  the  SOUL, 
which  alone,  thru  all  the  battle  and  blood-lusting  ages 
of  the  earth,  has  maintained  the  peerless  form  of  Liberty, 
in  the  face  of  the  most  despicable  and  fearful  tyrants  and 
bigots  of  the  earth. 

Here!  HERE!  !  Within  mine  lovely  soul,  Oh  God; 
which  Thou,,  alone,  hast  made  with  Thine  rosy  hands, 
and  set  me  in  the  midst  of  joy  to  worship  Thee! 


REFLEX 

Due  westward  an  hour's  walk  from  the  city  of  Denver 
and  lifted  high  above  the  city  as  was  the  temple  of  Solo 
mon  in  old  Jerusalem,  rises  a  mighty  mesa  known  as 
Green  Mountain.  It  is  a  peculiar  height,  its  formation 
being  neither  that  of  the  Great  Plains  or  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  and  yet  it  bears  the  soils  of  both.  It  is  a 
neutral  strip  as  it  were,  lying  between  the  East  and  the 
West ;  betwixt  the  mountains  and  the  plains.  To  Standish 
Brown,  who  rarely  fails  to  visit  it  on  every  Sabbath  day, 
it  is  the  symbol  of  the  new  civilization.  He  fancies  that 


542        THE     THEATRE     TERRIBLE 

the  plains,  representing  the  plain  people,  and  sweeping 
grandly  upward  toward  the  crest  of  this  noble  mesa ;  here 
meet  on  common  ground  the  representatives  of  American 
plutocracy,  whose  accumulated  millions  are  represented 
by  the  Great  Hills  to  the  west,  beginning  with  the  tower 
ing,  unawed,  and  peerless  peaks  of  the  snowy  range  and 
descending  tier  beneath  tier  to  the  lower  ranges  and  on 
down  to  the  foothills,  and  at  last  this  sweeping  descent 
from  the  last  green  foothill  to  the  base  of  this  lofty  mesa. 

The  summit  of  Green  Mountain  is  as  beautiful  a  heath 
as  ever  clung  to  a  Scottish  crag.  In  the  early  spring  one 
walks  among  the  yarrow,  the  daisies,  the  bluebells,  the 
clover,  and  the  thistle.  At  its  highest  point,  and  from 
-whence  is  a  matchless  view  of  mountain,  city,  and  plain, 
is  a  low  cairn  of  glaciated  stones,  among  which  and  par 
tially  protected  from  the  weather,  is  a  Bible.  The  day 
Standish  found  it  there,  it  opened  at  a  leaf  whereon  a 
certain  familiar  passage  had  been  underlined,  by  whose 
blessed  hand  he  knew  not,  but  which  read  as  follows : 

"Verily  I  say  unto  you,  if  ye  have  faith  as  a  grain  of 
mustard  seed,  ye  shall  say  unto  this  mountain,  Remove 
hence  to  yonder  place ;  and  it  shall  remove ;  and  nothing 
shall  be  impossible  unto  you." 

Instinctively  he  repeated  the  passage  aloud,  and  sinking 
to  his  knees  he  closed  his  eyes  and  bowed  himself  in 
prayer  for  the  founding  of  the  new  Israel.  As  he  opened 
his  eyes  they  rested  upon  a  tiny  flower  at  his  knees,  which 
in  his  deeply  religious  mood  he  accepted  as  the  answer  to 
his  prayer.  It  was  the  same  flower  which  had  often  felt 
the  tread  of  the  Great  Master  in  the  deep  valleys  of  the 
Jordan — the  mustard — that  tiny  flash  of  gold,  which  in 
its  particular  period  of  the  early  spring  gaily  dots  the 
beautiful  heather  of  Green  Mountain.  Thrilled  and  com 
forted  by  the  divine  symbol,  he  threw  himself  upon  the 
heath  reveling  in  page  after  page  of  the  sacred  volume, 
and  ever  and  anon  lifting  his  eyes  unto  the  mighty  hills 
of  the  West  and  then  upon  the  ever  descending  billows 
of  the  East.  The  sun  fled  the  land,  the  stars  broke  out 
one  by  one,  and  there  at  his  feet  lay  the  great  city,  its 
lights  glittering  and  shimmering  in  the  midst  of  the 


THE    THEATRE    TERRIBLE        543 

human  tides.  One  of  these  lights  far  up  toward  the 
gleaming  marbles  of  Cheesman  Park,  was  uncle  Davy's, 
and  another  not  far  away  was  Theodore  Dodge's.  Another, 
close  by  the  towering  arc  of  the  capitol  building,  was  the 
senator's.  Still  another,  a  daintily  twinkling  beam  from 
far  across  the  Platte,  among  the  thousands  of  other  twink 
ling  lights  of  the  North  Side  cottages,  was  Fiorina's.  She 
was  waiting  for  him.  ' 

Slowly  he  descended  the  mountain  and  at  the  foot  of 
it  he  found  and  entered  his  car.  A  few  moments  later 
the  cottage  was  reached  and  he  entered,  to  dwell  in  the 
bosom  of  his  family,  where  every  true  son  of  Adam  should 
live  the  life  of  truth  and  be  comforted. 

Standish  Brown  is  facing  a  formidable  array  of  antag 
onistic  forces  in  the  founding  of  the  newer,  the  truer, 
the  nobler  West,  the  greatest  perhaps,  being  the  guilt  and 
burden  of  his  own  vast  wealth,  which  has  ruined  many 
a  stronger  man  than  he.  Many  hands  will  launch  dread 
ful  blows  at  this  undaunted  son  of  the  hills.  But  a  great 
power  is  swelling  within  his  soul. 

GENIUS,  the  invincible  one. 

A  power  that  conquers  all  the  foes  of  Truth,  and  eter 
nally  vindicates  the  master  spirit  of  the  everlasting  God. 

All  hail !  To  Genius,  the  First  Player  of  the  Sublime 
Stage. 

All  hail!  To  the  Theatre  Terrible,  the  greatest  play 
house  of  the  world. 

That  glorious  temple  of  peerless  thespians,  which  con 
tains  every  source  of  materiality,  every  unit  of  force,  every 
breath  of  spirituality,  and  every  fount  of  creation  existing 
within  the  compass  of  that  most  sublime  and  terrible 
structure  of  tears,  laughter,  and  thoughts  forever  Godward 
soaring,  the  SOUL  of  MAN. 


FINIS. 


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